


Not a Fucking Charity Case

by ImNeitherNor



Series: Not A Fucking Charity Case [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alcoholism, All parents suck, Bad Parenting, Billy Needs Help, Billy hates talking, Billy is a storm, Billy isn't the only one, Blood, Bruising, Confused Steve, Eventual Sex, He Cares A Lot, Homophobic Language, Hopper is a thing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Painful Jabs, Pet Names, Police get involved, Princess Steve, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Steve has nightmares too, Steve may drown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-05 13:10:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 48,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12795285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImNeitherNor/pseuds/ImNeitherNor
Summary: Billy isn't a fucking charity case, and Steve doesn't see him that way.But he also sees a boy who could use help, even if it's through painful jabs and rough encounters.After all, Billy shouldn't spend Thanksgiving alone, and, well, neither should he.FINISHED





	1. The First Hit

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! After continuous, ravenous eating of fanfictions based on these two, I decided to write one myself. I have four chapters already up and going on my computer. I'll post one every day until Sunday (two on Wednesday). Stay with me as our boys fight through their ridiculous emotions for each other.

            The first hit was always the worst. Billy dreaded it the most. The clench of his stomach, the tightening of his chest, and then the rocketing pain of the hit was always what he remembered the most when he and his dad got into it. After that, the pain mounted, but at least he wasn’t dreading his dad’s next move. He knew the next move, hell, the next twenty, but the first… the first hit was what told him what kind of beating he was about to get.

 

            And this time, it seemed like Billy had truly fucked up. He wasn’t even sure _how_ or _why_.

 

            There wasn’t even a preamble this time. He had been in his room, blasting some “god awful music” when the door lurched open. His dad had stood there, but his posture was off—awkward—and Billy remembered when the beatings started. His dad had been drunk, and by the smell of it and the sway of his posture, Billy was sure he was drunk again.

 

            “Dad?” Billy was treading on the side of caution. Perhaps he was upset about Susan and Max leaving to see family for Thanksgiving. Or maybe he was just missing his first wife again. Either way, Billy wasn’t sure what to expect.

 

            “Thanksgiving,” Neil scowled and stumbled forward. Billy tensed and stood off of his bed, if only to make sure that he didn’t fall into any of his records. He didn’t speak yet, though, waiting to figure out exactly what was going on. This is why he hated these conversations. He wasn’t sure whether to fight or flee.

 

            “She’d be here, if it weren’t for _you_ ,” Neil thrust an accusing finger at Billy, and the said blonde managed not to flinch. It wasn’t in question who “she” was, but Billy was used to the blame routine. His lips twisted into a snarl and he clenched his hands into fists.

 

            Of course, his dad noticed the change. “Got somethin’ to say, boy?” He leaned forward and Billy fought the urge to take a step back. He stood stiffly, instead. “Sure looks like it. Tell me, Billy, anything?”

 

            “No, sir,” Billy ground out and _fuck_ , he had an attitude and he could hear it and—

 

            That’s when the first hit landed. Sure, his dad was drunk, but drunk meant that he hadn’t held back at all. Pain exploded across Billy’s face. His teeth cut into his cheek and blood covered his tongue. He tried to plant his feet, to stay still, but the second hit made him fumble backward. He reached out and grabbed his shelf, but by the time he had righted himself, another blow landed on the side of his head. Splotches of color danced in front of his eyes.

 

            “What was that?” Neil roared, and Billy felt that stupid fucking burn in his eyes that told him he was about to cry— _again_. He had convinced himself a long time ago that they were tears out of anger, but he couldn’t deny that it was remnants of him wanting his actual dad back, the one before his mom up and disappeared. Before he could say anything, his dad kicked him in the chest and sent him toppling over onto his shelf. Items fell, something broke, but Billy couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

            Neil took hold of Billy’s shirt and yanked him up onto his feet again. Billy stumbled, once again gaining his footing, before he looked up into his dad’s eyes. He shook as he did, his lips painted with his own blood and his chest heaving from the lingering pain of being kicked.

 

            “Repeat that,” Neil demanded lowly, once again yanking Billy forward, so their faces were inches apart.

 

            Billy stared at his dad, at least, what was left of him, and swallowed spit and blood. He wanted to reach up to wipe his face off, but he stood still. He didn’t talk, either. He knew it meant he was begging for more, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. It was basically asking him to admit that it was his fault, that they were there because of him, that everything spiraled out of control because of the type of person Billy was. And Billy wanted to desperately believe that it _wasn’t_ his fault.

 

            Even if these constant beatings made him think otherwise.

 

            “Billy Hargrove,” Neil slammed him back into the shelves and more things fell. Billy still hadn’t found his voice, but he knew that his emotions had already been boxed up and thrown into the depths of his mind.

 

            “Yes, sir,” Billy didn’t care if he got spit on his dad’s face as he said it. He didn’t care that his admission didn’t please his dad well enough. He also didn’t care that more hits landed, that he was stuck against his shelf as his dad had his own rage-out (honestly, this is probably where he got it from).

 

            He promised he didn’t care.

 

            By the time his dad was too exhausted to keep the beating going, he was unable to move. The man that Billy had once known as a father stumbled out of the room and that was when Billy finally collapsed. He sprawled himself out on the floor of his bedroom, tasting and swallowing blood, aching, and was vaguely thankful that Susan and Max weren’t there to see this.

 

            It wouldn’t be useful to lie here, Billy told himself. He was used to this, sure, but he also didn’t usually stick around to see if there was a round two. With a grunt, Billy pushed his body off of the floor. He touched his jaw and the pain was blinding enough that he wondered if it was broken or dislocated. Booze would help the pain. He leaned over and reached his arm beneath his bed, his fingers finally grasping the neck of the whiskey bottle he stored for nights like this.

 

            Of course, Billy wasn’t stupid enough to drink it here. He managed to push himself to his feet, although as the world spun, he wondered if leaving was such a great idea. More blood covered his tongue and fuck if that didn’t help him decide. He looked at his bedroom door, slid it closed, and shuddered. As long as he kept the door shut, his dad would assume he was just recovering. He always left Billy alone for days after a beating like this.

 

            Billy normally needed days.

 

            After securing his door, Billy walked over to his window. He contemplated how much the fall from it would hurt and then threw that thought away. Did it really matter at this point? He shoved the window up, ignoring the spasm of pain in his chest and stomach. Hastily, because he didn’t want to just move through the pain like snow, Billy pulled his body weight up with one hand and pushed himself out the window. He fell on the other side with a grunt and saw those splotches again in his vision. His grip, at least, hadn’t loosened from the whiskey bottle.

 

            That was, of course, when he remembered his car keys were inside. Probably for the best. His dad would have heard the rumble of his engine start up, and Billy wasn’t looking to grab his attention. He squeezed the neck of his booze and wondered if he should just lie there. The pain was bad enough—it radiated from his face to his legs. Where, exactly, was he going to go, anyway? The next house wasn’t for miles, and even then, he wasn’t planning on going to a house.

 

            What exactly, then, was he even doing? Billy chuckled to himself, but it ended in a pained gasp. After rolling onto his side, he pushed himself onto his ass and spit blood into the grass. Instead of picking himself up, Billy popped the bottle open and took a deep swig. The burn wasn’t painful, not like everything else, and warmed his stomach. He sat and drank until the pain was tolerable, and then finally pushed himself onto his feet. At first, the world spun, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the pain or the booze. It was probably a mix of both, but this was something that he _truly_ didn’t care about.

 

            With no destination in mind, Billy walked to the road and began to follow it. He looked at the half-full bottle of whiskey and spit again before continuing. One foot in front of the other. At least the booze and the pain kept him from feeling the cold, he thought uselessly, because he forgot a fucking jacket.


	2. Steve Fucking Harrington

            If Billy was honest with himself, which, by the way, he _never was_ , he would admit that he had probably walked too far. Too long. And, grudgingly, he hadn’t paid attention to where he was going. He just followed the asphalt and took a pull of the bottle every ten or so feet. The cold would have been unbearable at this point, he was sure. His breath came out in white puffs and his skin was prickling. But he couldn’t feel a damned thing, and that was okay with him.

 

            The problem was, then, that if he couldn’t feel anything physically, the emotional pain was there, unmuted. It rolled and coiled and burst inside of his chest, leaving him furious and alone and _so, so fucking hateful_. Fuck this small town. Fuck the people here. Fuck everything and everyone, including his god damn dad. He glared at the bottle. It was nearly empty. When, he wasn’t sure, but at least he had one swig left before it was useless. He took it, enjoying the subdued burn down his throat.

 

            “Fuck it,” Billy breathed. He had gotten used to the taste of blood a long time ago, but suddenly, it was almost unbearable. “Fuck it, fuck it, _fuck it!”_ By the end of his rant, he was screaming, rage so hot it boiled his blood. He chucked the bottle, not even a little satisfied as it shattered on the asphalt and glittered in the moon light.

 

            “Fuck this place, fuck the stupid fucking people, and fuck you, dad!” Billy threw two middle fingers up into the air, and he knew distantly that it was ridiculous. He scowled to himself and kicked a piece of glass out of the way as he walked passed the remains of his bottle.

 

            In the middle of his rant, lights came over the hill and blinded him. He shielded his eyes with his arm. After the light shifted out of his face, Billy dropped his arm and felt another wave of anger crash into him at the brown BMW.

 

            “And _fuck you_ , Steven fucking Harrington!” Billy spat and realized, perhaps too late, that the window of the BMW had been rolling down as it crept up next to him.

 

            “Do you _ever_ have anything nice to say?” Steve was looking at him and Billy hated the expression—half pissed off and half concerned. He could tell that Steve was looking at his face, at his parted shirt, at his lack of jacket, at the bruising that was blossoming across his body. “And, Jesus, Hargrove, how _drunk_ are you?”

 

            “Nunya fuckin’ business,” Billy snarled. Of course, the first person to see him after the round with his father was Steve Harrington. The world couldn’t give him a break, wouldn’t give him a break, and it was part of the reason why his dad’s words rung so true in his head sometimes—maybe all the time.

 

            “It’s my business when I’m about to run over your stupid ass,” Steve sighed and Billy was ready to throw his bottle, but his hands gripped nothing, and he realized that it was all over the pavement. “You look like shit.”

 

            “Thanks, princess. That’s _exactly_ what I wanna hear,” Billy rolled his eyes and continued to walk, luckily in the opposite direction the BMW was facing.

 

            “Wait—god dammit—“ Billy could hear Steve cussing and heard the crank of the car going into reverse. He ignored Steve as it rolled backwards. Was he really walking that slow? He blinked and looked back to the stupid driver of the stupid car.

 

            “Seriously, Hargrove. You look like you’re gonna pass out, and I don’t want to be responsible for you dying of hypothermia,” Steve scowled and slammed his car in park.

 

            “Hargrove!” Billy heard Steve’s door open but continued to walk. Truly, seeing Steve was _not_ something he wanted right now. The stupid asshole was probably getting ready for some extravagant, beautiful Thanksgiving dinner and Billy was on the side of the damn road drunk as fuck.

 

            “ _Billy_ ,” Steve snapped and Billy could tell he was _so close_ to him now.

 

            “Yes, sir,” Billy sneered and whirled around. He took sick pleasure in watching Steve stumble and stare, completely thrown off by the how much venom was in Billy’s voice. Sure, they bit at each other, but Billy was more bark than he was bite.

 

            “Look, I don’t know what happened, but you can’t be out here,” Steve reached back and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Billy watched him. He hadn’t realized how drunk he was until he tried to stand still. He wavered and stumbled, but he still tried to keep his eyes on Harrington. He looked so fucking concerned that it made him laugh.

 

            “Nothin’ happened,” Billy straightened his spine and grinned, all teeth. He knew he looked insane. The whiskey had washed out most of the blood in his mouth, but his teeth were still stained with it. “Unless you want your ass tah get kicked again, you should leave.”

 

            “At this point, Hargrove, you can barely stand,” Billy watched Steve roll his eyes and _fuck_ , he hated the guy. All nice clothes, nice car, nice _everything_. He probably had amazing parents. He was too functional not to have great parents. Billy squinted at Steve and then shrugged.

 

            “Just get in the damn car,” Steve pointed at the car. Billy hesitated, torn between walking until he collapsed—and he was close to that—and accepting Harrington’s help.

 

            “Fine, princess, but no funny shit,” Billy concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, not catching the blush that spread over Steve’s cheeks as he clumsily made his way to the side of the BMW.

 

            “What the fuck,” Steve mumbled and watched as Billy yanked the door open and simply collapsed into the car. He sighed and walked over to the passenger side door, “Born in a barn, Hargrove?” he groused and shut the door after making sure he wouldn’t crush one of Billy’s limbs.

 

            Billy hadn’t realized just how cold he was until he was surrounded by the heat of the BMW’s cabin. He shivered uncontrollably but hoped that Harrington wouldn’t notice as he, too, climbed into the car.

 

            “I don’t owe you nothin,” Billy managed and hated that his voice was soft and it may have trembled. He blamed the cold.

 

            “Not everything someone does is—fuck it—shut up, Hargrove,” Steve sighed and put the BMW back into drive. “Just shut up and tell me where your house is.”

 

            Panic reared its ugly head and Billy slammed himself against the passenger side door. Steve, alarmed, reached out and grabbed his shirt before the boy could take off. He hadn’t seen the expression on Billy’s face and hadn’t felt the shaking in his body as he tried to escape the vehicle.

 

            “Wait—fuck! Hargrove, what the fuck—we don’t have to go there—we don’t, look, _look_ —“ Steve finally managed to pull Billy around, but not before he made sure the car was in park. He had to put his entire body on the middle of his seat with half of his body pinning the larger boy down so that he wouldn’t throw himself onto the road. He struggled with Billy’s arms, pulling them back from the door and shoving them against Billy’s chest. He pinned them there and realized that the only reason he could was because Billy was really, really fucking drunk.

 

            “Just, Jesus Christ, hold on,” Steve was not out of shape, but by the time he managed to get Billy to stop flailing, he was panting. He had one knee in between Billy’s legs on the seat, and his arms were tucked against his and Billy’s chest, pinning both of them in one place. “Calm down, Billy. Just breathe.”

 

            Up close, even through the haze of his post-panic, Billy could see the concern swirling in Harrington’s eyes. He wanted to spit at him because _fuck_ , he was not some charity case. He didn’t need help. He didn’t need Harrington’s arms and body all over him.

 

            _Fucking faggot_.

 

            Billy closed his eyes, his dad’s words echoing in his ears. He couldn’t help it, though, as the warmth of Harrington’s body brought his own up. His dad wasn’t wrong. He was a faggot. He liked sucking dick as much as the next chick. He also liked hard planes, sharp bones and thick muscle, all of which Harrington was.

 

            “Get off,” Billy scowled.

 

            “Promise me you won’t try that shit again,” Steve was glaring now. Good. It was better than that pity shit.

 

            “Get off, Harrington.”

 

            “Not until you tell me you won’t do that shit!” Steve shoved Billy’s arms, and the hit against his chest caused him to wheeze. Right—he had been kicked there before. How long had it been since he had had a good pull of whiskey? It must have hurt because Steve looked all concerned again, his eyes searching Billy’s face and then his chest.

 

            “Fine! Christ. I _promise_ , princess,” Billy sneered, pulling his lips back again to show his teeth. He automatically relaxed as Harrington finally climbed off him and settled back into the driver’s seat. Both were out of breath, panting a bit as the air settled again between them.

 

            “You need to come up with better nicknames,” Steve looked over to Billy, who simply shrugged in response. “Jesus, Hargrove.” Billy watched as Steve scrubbed his face with the palm of his hand. “Look, I was heading back from the store. You can just crash at my place tonight.”

 

            Startled, Billy blinked and looked over at Steve’s profile. He watched as the man fumbled the gear back into drive and pulled back out into his lane. What was he supposed to say to that? How was he supposed to respond? Did Harrington want some sort of fucking gratitude?

 

            “I’m not a fucking charity case, Harrington,” Billy bit out. The pain from his injuries began to throb, and regrettably, he realized he was starting to sober up.

 

            “I never said you were,” Steve didn’t look at him, and Billy wanted to strangle him. He kept his eyes on the road, even as Billy continued to glare holes into his head.


	3. Like Father, Like Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who have left encouragement and kudos. I appreciate it! Please let me know what you think--advice is always appreciated. :)

Like Father, Like Son

 

 

            When they pulled up to Harrington’s house, Billy clenched his jaw and then immediately regretted it. The pain that had exploded over his face reminded him that, perhaps, his jaw was in more trouble than originally thought. He ignored that, though, in favor for hating Harrington, because of _course_ he lived in a huge house that was perfect in every single little way.

 

            “I need booze,” Billy looked over to Harrington and saw how his brows furrowed and his lips creased into a thin line.

 

            “You’ve had enough tonight,” Steve shook his head, pulled the key from the ignition, and got out of the car. Billy rolled his eyes and pushed his door open, as well.

 

            “We clearly have different definitions of enough,” Billy shut the door and shivered. He wasn’t all the way sober, but he also didn’t want to be.

 

            “We’re going by mine tonight,” Steve shot him a glare.

 

            “Won’t your parents wonder why you’re bringin’ someone home, Harrington? Especially this,” Billy gestured to himself. The way he dressed didn’t scream ‘straight,’ and the bruises and the blood would certainly bring up questions that he rather not answer. “Unless your parents are used to you bringin’ boys home.”

 

            Steve froze, and Billy grinned as the other boy turned around to face him.

 

            “Why does everything have to be a fight with you, Hargrove?” Steve glowered and Billy loved it. He could deal with this—not that pitying shit. “Is it because of whatever’s going on at your house?”

 

            Billy froze, his smirk disappearing as dread and anger hit him. His expression filtered through too many emotions before it settled on his fury.

 

            “What did you say, Harrington?” Billy took two long strides and ended up in front of the other boy, crowding him against the front door of his too fucking perfect house. He recognized fear when he stared into Harrington’s face, but he watched the fear turn into its own anger, enough to match his own.

 

            “I find you drunk on the side of the damned road, try to take you home, and you _freak the fuck out_ ,” Steve threw his hands in the air, “not to mention, we didn’t have school today, and your fucking face is pretty fresh, Hargrove, so I’m guessing it happened at home. Or am I wrong?” The look on Harrington’s face almost begged Billy to tell him he was wrong. Oh, that was precious. Steve didn’t _want_ Billy to be beaten by his dad. How cute.

 

            “Keep your fucking thoughts to yourself, Harrington,” Billy breathed. He put his hand above Steve’s head, spreading his fingers over the door as he leaned down enough that they shared the air between them. “Unless you like gettin’ the shit beaten’ out of you.”

 

            “You’ve already confirmed it, asshole,” Steve’s voice was rougher now, and Billy couldn’t say that he hated it. He watched the way Steve shifted underneath him, uncomfortable, and he chuckled. This is what he preferred—the power and the dominance over someone else.

 

            “Hargrove,” Steve hissed, but it didn’t deter Billy. He stayed where he was, his elbow bent so that he was close enough to Steve’s face to see the flush that crept up his neck and into his cheeks.

 

            _Fucking faggot_.

 

            Billy’s smirk twisted into a scowl. He pushed off the door and shoved his hands into his pockets as he looked Steve over. While Steve was basically the picture of what Billy was into—pretty hair, expressive face, slightly tan skin, and lean—he knew he shouldn’t push his luck. This town was too small for him to garner that reputation again.

 

            Steve stood there for a few moments longer, enough to cause an awkward silence to fall. He finally pushed away from the door, though, and Billy watched him fumble to get the door unlocked and opened. He wondered if Harrington regretted inviting him over. It was obviously too late now, and Billy had to squash the disappointment in his chest at that. Being overly hopeful had never helped him in the past, and he wasn’t about to start that stupid ass shit now.

 

            “You should clean up,” Steve looked over his shoulder at him and Billy noticed that the blush from earlier was still there. “The shower is up the stairs to the left. Clean towels are in the closet.”

 

            “What about your folks?” Billy stepped into the home and noticed that it was a little too dark—a little too quiet—for anyone to be around.

 

            “Business trip,” Steve shrugged, as if it were normal for a kid like him, all perfect and shit, to not have his parents home for the holidays. Billy decided not to answer and stepped into the house.

 

            “Take your shoes off and leave them there,” Steve pointed to the side and Billy rolled his eyes. Of course. He yanked his shoes off and dropped them. “I’ll heat us up some food.”

 

            “How domestic of you,” Billy began to sneer, but the look on Harrington’s face—torn between anger and disappointment—made him stop. He shut his mouth and scowled, instead. He avoided the other boy’s eyes as he headed to the stairs. Sure, he was still tipsy, but he made it up the stairs just fine.

 

            Why was that asshole looking at him like that? Billy had shown up to school with a few bruises and cuts before. No one had said anything; it was assumed that Billy had gotten into a fight and that was that. No one _questioned_ that. But then Steve fucking Harrington finds him on the side of the road, bloodied and drunk, and suddenly the bruises and cuts mean something. He shoved the bathroom door closed and clenched his fists. Billy _hated_ pity. He hated it because there was nothing to fight against when they pitied him. Sure, if they were angry, he could deal with that. He could fight that. Pity? No. That shit was crushing, and he had seen it on Susan’s face so many god damn times when she witnessed just a hint of violence directed at him from his dad. At least Max believed that Billy deserved it (he was pretty sure she believed that, anyway).

 

            When Billy turned to the mirror, he froze. Oh. _Oh_. That’s why. He stared at his reflection and grimaced. Fuck, he looked awful. His hair was stained with blood that came from the cuts on his cheeks and his split lip. He could see the darkening of bruises along his temple, his brow bone, his cheek bone—everywhere. Even his chest had darkened into a muddy purple. He looked like one of those damned victims on those posters in the counseling office at school. He was the perfect candidate for it—should get a job doing it, really.

 

            Billy laughed at that, but it came out raspy and choked. Tears burned his eyes again and he gripped the counter’s edge. His knuckles turned white as he leaned over. How long had it been since the beatings were this bad? Before Susan moved in, probably. His dad was cruel, but he watched himself around his new fucking wife and his step-sister. They couldn’t know what he was hiding, after all. Billy sank to his knees, the cold linoleum seeping through his jeans as he settled his forehead on the counter’s edge.

 

            Harrington better have some type of fucking booze in this house. It was painful to think that his go to after his dad’s rage was alcohol, which he was sure was what started the whole thing in the first place. Like father, like son. _How about that, dad?_ Billy grinned at the thought, but the pain of it wasn’t lost on him. After all, the tears that burned the cuts on his cheeks said different. He blinked and watched as a few of the tears dampened his jeans.

 

            How fucking pathetic.

 

            Irritated with himself, Billy reached down to undo the last few buttons of his shirt. He shrugged the fabric off and then stood to deal with his jeans. If he could simply go on auto-pilot, everything would be fine. But he didn’t have booze, and he was alone, and that was an awful combination (booze at least helped him not think). He tugged the button free on his jeans and then unzipped. At least he didn’t have to deal with boxers or briefs. He just didn’t have time to put up with that shit. Jeans. Right. He clenched his fists and shuddered. Shower—he just needed to _shower_. Step by step, Hargrove. One at a time.

 

           Fucking talking to himself; _fantastic_.

 

           Billy tugged his jeans off with some difficulty. It was hard to bend down because of his chest, and each bend or movement made his head swim. He was sure it was either the beating or the booze, but he was starting to blame the beating more. Being that he was sobering up, the world shouldn’t move so much when blood moved more freely to his brain. Concussion, he thought to himself distantly. It had to be.

 

           Shaking the thought off, Billy turned the shower on and stepped in. It didn’t matter that it was freezing at first as the pipes warmed. It didn’t matter that the water hurt his face and his chest. It also didn’t matter that his shoulders had started to shake as his mind spiraled into darkness. He was showering. That’s all he was doing.

 

          And if he was crying, _which he fucking wasn’t_ , who was to know, anyway?

 

-

 

 

           The sound of the shower relaxed Steve’s muscles. He had been worried about Hargrove actually showering. Why, he wasn’t sure. It could be that Hargrove was generally a piece of shit human being, so it wasn’t surprising that he expected the absolute worst. He chewed on his lower lip while he stared blankly into the fridge. It had been open for a few minutes now as he contemplated what to throw into the microwave. He wasn’t even thinking about food, though. No, his mind was on the blonde currently showering in his house. His. House.

 

          Taking Hargrove home was the last thing Steve would have done on the night before Thanksgiving, but he also knew that, even if he hated him (he hated him, right?), it wasn’t right to leave him on the side of the road. The boy had looked absolutely insane, bloody and drunk and absolutely on edge. Sure, Hargrove was on edge about ninety-nine-point nine percent of the time, but tonight was different. It was an edge that Steve hadn’t seen before, and he was determined to pull Hargrove back from that edge. Now that he thought about it, the edge seemed more like a ledge now, as if the boy would have just… jumped if he had had the choice.

 

          That was not going to be on Steve’s conscious. Not now, not ever.

 

          Ditching the idea of food, Steve shut the fridge door and headed toward his room. Hargrove would need something to wear, and it wasn’t about to be that bloody shirt and cold jeans. He opened the door to his room and began to rummage through his drawers. What would Nancy say about Hargrove being here? What would she do? And why was she the person he thought about? He should really be more concerned with his parents (should he, though?). He shook his head and pulled out a hoodie and sweat pants with the school’s logo on them.

 

          The walk to the bathroom seemed longer than usual. Steve didn’t want another argument, but Hargrove was always looking for one. At least, it seemed like it. No matter what Steve said or did, there was an angle that Hargrove could attack, and he did it-maliciously-every time. There was never a recourse with him, and that was why Steve hesitated outside the door.

 

          “Hargrove?” He knocked lightly. He could hear movement, muffled movement, and finally the door opened. Steam rolled out and Steve managed to stumble back one or two steps. “Ah—I got you clothes.” Why did he have to sound so uncertain about himself? Hargrove just _did that_ to him. He sounded fucking stupid.

 

          By the time he had opened the door, Billy had recovered some of his haughtiness. He had a towel slung low around his hips, but nothing more. Water still dripped over his shoulders, his chest, along his stomach. His blonde curls were sticking to his cheeks and his neck, and part of him love that Steve’s eyes were moving over him.

 

         “Like what you see?” Billy had swept his emotional tirade under the carpet. Sure, it would creep out again at some point, but he couldn’t allow others to see him that vulnerable. “Even though I’m pretty sure you get to see it in the showers at school.” His lips curled into a smirk and it widened as red began to creep along Harrington’s neck.

 

         “Just take the fucking clothes,” Steve snapped, shoving the pile of clothing into Hargrove’s arms. He refused to believe that his sharp response was an admission of guilt, even if it was. “Get dressed, I swear to god.” He threw his hands in the air again as he stomped off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. I'm through Chapter Six of this and it's literally killing me. Chapter 6 was so incredibly difficult to write, and now I'm on Chapter 7 and trying to work through everything and :LKdjf:LKAJF <-My brain.


	4. Liar, Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a Happy Thanksgiving gift.
> 
> I just can't help myself, is all.

Liar, Liar             

 

              Billy watched, and as soon as Harrington was out of sight, his smirk fell. The whole charade was exhausting because he was exhausted. Maybe after some sleep, he could start over again and have enough energy to actually taunt Harrington. He shut the door and used the towel to dry his skin. He was careful around his face and chest, and he moved slower than he would like because of the lingering pain.

 

                Of course, Harrington gave him school clothes. Billy rolled his eyes and tugged the hoodie over his head. He froze as the distinct smell of the other boy washed over him. His skin crawled and he took a moment just to bask in it, to breathe it in, and his stomach tightened. Ah, shit. This was bad. He really shouldn’t be feeling any sort of way. His brain had different plans. Harrington had picked him up, cared enough about him to not let him die (that was good, right?), and then brought him clothes.

 

               How long had it been since Billy had someone who acted like they cared? Acted, at least. This may be just because Harrington was a generally nice guy, as much as Billy hated that. It may be out of responsibility more than anything else, but his damned brain or heart didn’t care. Nope. They were having their own little celebrations while he scowled and pulled on the warm clothing.

 

               Once Billy was finished dressing, he walked out of the bathroom and back down the stairs. He had put his clothing in a messy pile. With the parents on a business trip, he was sure just leaving them wouldn’t fuck anything up. As he hit the bottom step, he caught sight of Steve’s back. There was a phone pressed against his ear, his hand cradling it. His other arm was around his waist, as if he was hugging himself. Strange.

 

               “I don’t know what to fucking do, Nance,” Steve’s voice sounded distraught. Billy always made people sound that way. “I just found him—no, he’s not trying anything. No—I mean, yes, he’s an asshole, and he hasn’t been the nicest—no, I’m not going to kick him out.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, still unaware that the boy he was talking about was standing behind him. “He needs someone, and I don’t fucking know. I mean, I’m not the greatest person, but fuck—he was _alone_ , Nance—“

 

               “I told you, Harrington, I’m not a fucking charity case,” Billy hissed, and Steve dropped the phone and turned around so quickly that he almost lost his footing on the kitchen tiles. Billy took the opportunity to grab Steve’s biceps and haul him up against the wall. Steve took in a sharp breath, and Billy felt his body ignite in response. The way Steve’s eyes widened with fear and something _else_ nearly pushed Billy over the edge.

 

              “I never said you were one,” Steve offered, but it was weak, and Billy could _hear_ the pity there. The concern was overwhelming and Billy loathed it. He leaned in close again, just as he had earlier, and let their breath mingle. His nose could touch Steve’s cheek if he tilted his head, and leaning this close let Billy really look at what was left of the brutal beating he had given the boy not long ago. The thought of pummeling Harrington like that made him feel sick, but he quickly pounded that response down and sneered at him.

 

             “And what’s that bitch of yours have to say about that?”

 

             Billy said it before he could think about it, and Steve managed to yank out of his grip. Before he could eat his own words, his face was exploding in pain. Again. Steve’s fists were clenched and Billy was stumbling backward, surprised. He reached up to touch his mouth, and he would have to admit he was getting tired of tasting blood. He watched as Steve’s face contorted into several different emotions—rage, regret, rage again, and then hardened into something he wasn’t used to seeing on Steve’s face.

 

            “Fuck you, Hargrove,” Steve spat and picked the phone up again. He checked it and sighed; Nancy had hung up. He didn’t doubt she would call back almost immediately, so he hung the phone on the receiver and turned again toward the blonde.

 

           “Is that why she left you?” Billy really had to reel it in, but his mouth kept _moving_ , “You fuck boys, Harrington? Is that it?”

 

           “Is this why you keep getting kicked around by your dad? Can’t keep your fucking mouth shut?” Steve threw back, and now both boys were frozen, staring at each other, both furious.

 

           The sharp demand of the phone ringing cut into the boiling silence and both looked at it. Steve dropped his fists and grabbed the phone.

 

          “Hiya, Nancy. No. It’s good. Don’t worry. No, don’t…” Steve groaned to himself and shot Billy an accusing glare. “I don’t need help. It’s just _Hargrove_ … Yeah, I know he did… I’ll call if I do need anything. Promise. Yeah, good night, Nance.” The click of the phone was loud in the quiet room. Steve finally turned to Billy. He grimaced at the blood on Hargrove’s mouth and turned to pull a cloth out of one of the kitchen drawers.

 

           Billy stood stiffly. He found it difficult to move after Hargrove’s comeback. He struggled to identify what ‘this’ meant. Was it the arguing? Or the fucking boys part? Did Harrington know? He couldn’t. There was no way. It had to have just meant the arguing, the way Billy poked and prodded at open wounds. It couldn’t be because he fucked dudes and that was what his dad always accused him of being. A _fucking faggot_.

 

          The sound of water made Billy look up, and he couldn’t help the flinch as Steve stepped closer with the wet rag. He hated himself for it. He should be fighting, yelling back, making a scene, but instead he stood like some kind of pussy and said nothing.

 

          “I didn’t pick you up to fight you,” Steve muttered and pushed the rag into Hargrove’s hand. “Just fucking watch what you say. Shit isn’t right.”

 

          “Not everyone can be perfect like you, Harrington,” Billy squeezed the rag in his hand and glowered.

 

          “I’m not perfect, and I didn’t even say I was. You’re just making shit bigger than it has to be,” Steve was exasperated at this point. He yanked the rag out of Hargrove’s hand and then stepped into his space, just as Billy had done to him earlier. “You always do. You take any little thing and blow it up, thinking you’ll get a fight out of it. That fucking stops here, Hargrove. You stay here, you fucking stop.”

 

          Steve reached up and grasped Billy’s jaw, but it wasn’t a hard grip. Steve was incredibly gentle, mindful of the other bruises and cuts. He ran the rag over the split in Billy’s lip and ignored the way he was being looked at. It was strange how quickly the blonde could move through emotions. It was almost like an experiment. Things moved quickly, and the person on the other side was never quite sure if it was going to explode or implode. Either way, the results were normally messy. Steve glanced up from the blood he was gently wiping away to Billy’s eyes. They were watching him like a hawk, suspicion swirling and anger now only simmering.

 

         “I’m not sorry about hitting you,” Steve admitted, even as he dabbed the rag along the angry, swollen flesh of Hargrove’s face. “But… I am sorry about what I said about your dad. That was fucking stupid.”

 

           Billy’s chest constricted, and he sucked in a sharp breath. He wasn’t used to apologies, especially when he was the one who should most likely be apologizing. He wouldn’t, though, and even if he had been going to, he was suddenly distracted by the way Steve’s pupils dilated. He narrowed his eyes and then licked his lips, and sure enough, Steve’s eyes dropped to his tongue and that adorable flush was back.

 

          “You weren’t wrong,” Billy let his eyelids droop. He would smirk, but he was sure that if he did, the wound on his lower lip would open and he would start bleeding again. “About my dad.”

 

          “What do you mean?” Steve swallowed. There wasn’t any blood left on Hargrove’s lips and his cheek, but for some reason, he couldn’t pull back. Not yet, anyway. This was the first time he had seen anything but rage and spitefulness from Billy, and he didn’t want to ruin it. He was afraid that if he moved, Billy would simply stop talking or, worse, leave.

 

            Billy wanted so badly to tell Steve that he liked boys. He liked cock. He liked sucking and fucking and Steve was _really fucking pretty_. Fuck, he called him princess on a regular basis. He clenched his jaw and flinched. Fuck, he really shouldn’t do that.

 

            “I argue too much,” Billy shrugged and hissed. Damn it. “Make a big deal out of everything.”

 

            Billy could see the calculations going on in Steve’s eyes. He could also see that Steve didn’t believe him, but he had pulled out at the last second; the last thing he needed was for Harrington to know he was, in fact, gay.

 

            “Whatever, Hargrove. It’s late. I’ll get you a pillow and some blankets and you can crash on the couch.” Steve stepped back and threw the rag into the sink.

 

            “Sure, princess,” Billy watched Steve walk off and let himself smile a little at the middle finger thrown his way for the nickname.


	5. Not The Only One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't as difficult to write as the next chapter. The next one kicked my ass. Yet, this one had it's own issues--what would Billy do and not do? What would he be willing to trade? Billy just doesn't do things for people, after all.
> 
> He made this complicated.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy today's installment! Let me know what you think via comments! I really do appreciate them, and I'll reply as soon as I can. :)

Not the Only One

 

 

 

             It was good that Harrington walked away. Billy was having a hard time controlling his emotions, and that was rarely the case. Rage was his normal, and as much as he hated to admit it, it wasn’t _him_. It was to cover up all the vulnerabilities and the person he had been before his dad had become abusive. He had been hopeful, open, wild and free against the waves and smell of the ocean. He had been… better. The abuse and the constant blame he dealt with had created this outer, impenetrable shell.

 

             And Billy was terrified that Harrington was cracking his façade, and he could not afford that.

 

             Billy was a fucking asshole, and everyone knew that. He had to keep that up. His ability to handle everything depended on him being the person that everyone hated. After several quiet moments of simply standing in the kitchen, he took a shuddering breath and walked into the living room. It was only moments later that Steve came back in, arms full of blankets and a pillow. He refuses to look at Billy, and for some reason, that irks him.

 

             “Why are you helping me, Harrington?” Billy cocked his head to the side and crossed his arms over his chest. Steve still hasn’t looked at him. Instead, he dropped the pillow at the head of the couch. The blankets follow, and while Billy knows that the activity didn’t include any brain power, Steve certainly looked as if he was concentrating enough to burn some neurons.

 

             “Harrington,” Billy hissed. He hated to be ignored. It was something that set him off. He also knew that his dad was the same way, and he hated himself even more for being so similar to him.

 

              “What?” Steve finally, _finally_ looked over at Billy. His eyes were narrowed, his brows furrowed, and his lips were set in a thin line. The anger on his face, mixed with his own exhaustion, made Billy’s blood boil (and he had no idea why).

 

               “I beat your face in weeks ago,” Billy walked forward several steps so that their chests were less than a foot a part. He wasn’t sure why, but he _had_ to be in Steve’s personal space. “But here you are, playing the nice guy.”

 

               “Because I’m not a fucking asshole, Hargrove,” Steve hissed, and Billy can feel the breath on his jaw. Being tall had its perks. He leaned down so that they were eye to eye.

 

               “Tryin’ to say something, Harrington?” Billy grinned and ignored the burn on his lip as the wound split. He could see the anger flashing in Steve’s eyes and the flush that crept up his neck spiked Billy’s heart rate.

 

                “Even if I was, I’m not about to beat someone who’s already down,” Steve’s lips curled and Billy wanted to punch him again. Instead, he shoved the asshole against his chest and watched him stumble backward.

 

                “You know,” Steve straightened himself and cast a nasty look Billy’s way, “It’s no wonder you’re such a loner. A fucker like you couldn’t keep anyone around.” With that, Steve turned and made his way upstairs.

 

                 Billy’s chest rose and fell rapidly with his breaths, his anger uncoiling from his chest and seeping into his veins. He closed his eyes and swallowed. This is what needed to happen. Steve _needed_ to hate him. Billy wasn’t a good person, and he never fucking would be. He turned and finally, after what felt like days (it had only been hours since the beating, damn it), collapsed onto the couch.

 

~ ~ ~

 

                Steve wanted to slam his door. He wanted to punch something over and over _and over_. Hargrove did that to him. He pushed him to the limits of what he could handle and then over it. Steve had said some cruel things in his life, but he had been doing better. That fucking asshole kept ruining his ability to keep his comments to himself. It was as if he was _digging_ for the remarks, as if he had an addiction to being riled up.

  

                And it worked every time. Steve fell for it almost every time, and each time, he was left feeling either empty or so full of rage that he couldn’t sleep. Why that asshole had so much control over him boggled his mind. Not even Nancy could keep him furious for that long. Steve sighed raggedly and scrubbed his face with his hands. Perhaps when he woke up, Hargrove would be gone and he wouldn’t have to deal with him in the morning.

 

                What a way to wake up—knowing Billy fucking Hargrove was on his couch, itching for another fight.

 

                With that in mind, Steve stripped to just his boxers and slipped under the comforter on his bed. It was only then that he realized he left the groceries from the store in the car. The cold weather would keep them chilly, at least, because like fuck Steve was walking downstairs again. He couldn’t be paid to have another go with Hargrove.

 

                Weary, and with his heart beat still strong and heavy, Steve closed his eyes and let sleep consume him.

  


~ ~ ~

 

               Billy had somehow managed to fall asleep on the couch, sprawled out beneath one of the covers on his back. It was surprisingly easy to sleep when he wasn’t worried about his dad throwing the door open, even if he was in a foreign space. He was currently riding that in between, awkward stage of sleep, where half of his brain was aware of his surroundings and the other half kept slipping into the deeper portion of sleep.

 

              That was, of course, until he was torn from his sleep by a terrified shout. He shot up out of habit with his own groan of pain. The room spun and his chest ached. Now Billy knew he was completely sober. The pain was excruciating; his pulse was sluggish but hard, pounding in his ears and across all the dark marks on his skin.

 

              Why had he woken up? Right. It sounded like Harrington was being murdered. He shook himself out of his half-sleep and got up from the couch. He could hear a keening noise coming from upstairs; it almost sounded like begging. Maybe Harrington had a visitor? That ex-girl of his? But the sound—no, Billy knew that sort of noise. It wasn’t pleasure and it certainly wasn’t something that came out of someone having a good time.

 

              Finally, Billy bounded up the steps, taking them two at a time. As much as he wanted to check on Harrington, he also didn’t want to be a savior. He wasn’t the type, but he also wasn’t the type to just sit idly by while something horrible happened to the guy giving him a couch to sleep on. Oh, and he didn’t want to be blamed if Harrington was, in fact, being murdered.

 

              The door was closed, because of course it was. After all, Hargrove was in the house. He snorted and then eased up to the door. He was used to sneaking; his dad made sure of that. He turned the doorknob slowly before pushing the door open. Another noise of distress had him moving a tad faster (he swore he wasn’t worried), and then he froze. Steve had somehow taken his comforter down to the ground with him and had huddled against the wall. That damned bat that had nearly taken his own nuts off was gripped firmly in his hands.

 

               But Harrington’s eyes—they were wide and glazed over with panic and pain. His face was pale and his entire body shook as he gasped for breath. Billy knew a panic attack when he saw one, and Harrington was in the throes of what looked like an intense episode. He stepped inside and slid the door closed. The last thing he needed was to have that bat swung at him. First step: disarm Harrington.

 

               “Harrington,” Billy tried to make his voice gentle; it was something he hadn’t done in a long time. He licked his lips and stepped forward. The movement made Harrington cringe and scuttle further back, toward the corner of his room. “Harrington, it’s just me. Hargrove. You’re in your room. Wherever you are right now, it isn’t real.”

 

               This was a monologue Billy knew well. He had said it to himself dozens of times before his panic turned to anger. He could manipulate anger; he couldn’t control panic.

 

               “You’re in your room,” Billy tensed as Steve raised his arms, the bat ready for a swing. He wasn’t close enough to be hit, but if the bat went flying, there were no promises that he wouldn’t get injured. “Steve,” finally, Billy managed to coo the asshole’s name. It made his skin flush and his heart race, and fuck if he didn’t want to think about why. “Steve, come on, man, you’re okay. You’re safe. It’s just me. It’s Billy.”

 

               Steve finally looked at Billy but he didn’t _see him_. He looked right through him. Billy tried not to sigh in frustration. What could have possibly happened to Harrington to make him act like this? What was the bat for? What could he have possibly done with the hand-made weapon? He doubted he would ever find out, but right now, he needed to concentrate on pulling him out of his panic.

 

              “That’s right, Steve. I’m here, you’re okay,” and wasn’t that a fucking joke? No one was safe with Billy. He eased himself down onto his knees, settling within arm’s reach of Steve.  “Put the bat down, Steve.”

 

               Steve was looking around the room again, as if waiting for something to jump out at him. Billy clenched his jaw and ignored the stab of pain into his skull. He should really put ice on that. He shifted closer again, inch by inch, because he wasn’t going to be fucking hit by that damned bat. That was so not on his to-do list.

 

              “Princess,” Billy murmured, “Princess, come back. I’m here. Come back to me.” His stomach coiled into a tight knot as he spoke and his skin felt like it was on fire. He was being unbearably gentle with Steve, but he knew that it was the only way to bring Steve back. What would have happened if he had been alone? Sat here all night, bat in ready position, terrified? Billy reached out and gently brushed the back of his fingers over Steve’s bicep. Then, carefully, he turned his hand over to stroke his thumb over the curved muscle.

 

              It seemed to have worked. Steve may hate the nickname, and he may hate Billy Hargrove, but it pulled him out of wherever he was. He finally looked over at Billy and _saw him_.

 

              “What—“ Steve looked at Billy, the hand on his bicep, and then the bat. He dropped it; the sound was achingly loud in the quiet room. “What the fuck, Hargrove?”

 

               Billy yanked his hand back from Steve’s bicep and leaned back onto the balls of his feet. He watched Harrington closely for a moment before pushing himself up from the floor.

 

               “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Billy raised an eyebrow and Steve looked like he wanted to punch him. “The fuck are you doing, sitting here with that damned thing? What’s going to get you? The boogeyman?”

 

               Steve’s anger fell from his face, replaced by exhaustion. He finally stood on shaky legs.

 

              “None of your damn business,” Steve ran his fingers through his messy hair and Billy’s own fingers itched. He wanted to push the hair from Steve’s face, cup his cheeks, press his lips to his forehead and comfort him. It was what he had hoped so desperately for during his own episodes. Of course, he could also punch Steve. It would probably get the same response.

 

              “Good to know. Now that it’s none of my fucking business, I’ll be headed back downstairs,” Billy jabbed a thumb in the direction of the door.

 

              “No—wait!” Steve reached out and froze. He realized what he had just done, the weakness he had just shown to Billy. The guy was a shark and this was the perfect moment to eat Steve alive. He stood stiffly, his body still trembling from the nightmare that had jarred him enough to put him into a night terror. He watched, stomach in knots and palms sweating, as Hargrove slowly turned on his heel to face him again.

 

             “What, Harrington?” Billy peeled his lip back and sneered. “Y’need some coddling? ‘Cause if you do, I’m not that person.” He ignored the way his chest constricted. Yes, yes he was. He would wrap his too-long arms around Steve and hold him. He would comb his hair out of his face. He would do so much, but he simply _couldn’t_. “Find a fucking bitch for that.”

 

              Steve’s face crumbled and Billy swore under his breath. Whatever Steve had gone through, it was enough to completely tear down the walls and the ‘fuck you’ façade he kept up all day.

 

              “Jesus, Harrington. Get in the damn bed.” Billy put his hands on his hips and waited, impatiently, as Steve avoided looking at the bat as he crawled onto the bed. He sighed and ran his fingers through his blonde curls. Honestly, how had he gotten into this position? Comforting Steve fucking Harrington? He walked forward and squatted to pick up the comforter. Bending over was still insanely painful, and he wasn’t ready for the world to tip upside down with all the blood that would have rushed around his brain.

 

              “You plannin’ on telling me what that was?” Billy threw the comforter on the bed and walked to the other side. The bed, of course, was huge. He didn’t expect any less of the Harrington family.

 

               “No,” Steve curled beneath the covers and watched Hargrove. He felt empty, like there was absolutely nothing in his chest. Yet, the torrent of fear was still there. He didn’t want to go back to sleep. The nightmare might continue, and if it did, how was he going to deal with it? He wasn’t even sure how Billy pulled him out of his night terror. Normally, those lasted hours and Steve paid the price the next day.

 

                “Let’s make a deal,” Because like hell Billy would let this get to anyone. Besides, this gets him into bed with Steve fucking Harrington. Steve simply groaned beneath the covers because he _knew_ what was coming. “I’ll be your body pillow tonight, but none of the shit is talked about. To anyone. _Ever_.”

 

                 Steve tugged the blanket down enough to glare at Hargrove. He weighed his options. He could try to sleep again, but he knew exactly where that was going (he’s had these nights before, after all). He could accept the offer and not talk about it with anyone (he wasn’t going to, anyway), but he would be able to sleep because he wouldn’t be alone.

 

                 Obviously, his choice was the latter.

 

                “C’mere,” Steve tugged the blankets down and raised his arm, as if he was actually inviting the blonde into the bed with him. Which, he totally was, but no one would know. He watched several emotions fly over Hargrove’s face before the much taller, more muscular male dipped into the bed. His movements were careful, and Steve knew it was because of the lingering pain. He could tell with how Hargrove shifted and lied down that he was hurting, and he made a mental note in his head to get pain medicine in the morning. Right now, he didn’t feel up to moving.

 

                “Christ, princess,” Billy huffed as he eased onto his side and allowed Steve to latch onto him. He thought he would simply sleep in the same bed, but the other teen had different ideas. An arm was slung around Billy’s side, fingers splayed over his back. Their legs became entangled, and Billy had to trample down the urge to snap at Steve to stop. He had offered this, and again, he was in bed with Harrington. It was probably the closest he would ever be to being himself in Hawkins (he was getting the fuck out as soon as he graduated, after all).

 

                “Not a princess,” Steve grumbled petulantly.

 

                “Whatever,” Billy sighed into Steve’s hair. He looked over him to the bat on the floor and his stomach turned. Seriously. What pushed Steve to huddle into the corner with a damned bat full of nails? Did he even want to know? He glanced down at Steve, but at this point, the male had already closed his eyes and relaxed into the bed. His dark eyelashes were sinful against the curve of his cheeks, his lips finally not pursed or strained, full and slack—open to breathe. And fucking kissable. Billy struggled with his mind for a moment and closed his own eyes. He took a calming breath and finally eased his arm over Steve’s. He ran the pad of his fingers over Steve’s back in circles and hoped that it was enough of a distraction for himself to ignore the way Steve moved into him, as if he wanted to crawl into Billy’s damn skin.

 

               “Remember, Harrington—not talking about this to anyone,” Billy groused, but he couldn’t help but notice the lack of threat in his voice. He hated himself for it. This was a weakness. This was _hope_ , and Billy was simply not allowed to have that.

 

               “No one,” Steve agreed, his voice already slurred with sleep.

 

               Jesus. Billy knew in the back of his mind that this was going to be a long night. Perhaps not for Steve, who was already slipping off into sleep, but for him. He was sure he would fall asleep at some point, but right now, he was drowning in the torture of being so close to something he wanted and couldn’t have.

  

               Billy really, desperately needed a cigarette.


	6. Respect & Responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, guys. THIS CHAPTER. It KILLED me. I don't re-write things most of the time (my emotions and thoughts take over my writing, and it usually turns out okay). This chapter, though. I cannot express how hard it was for me and how much Billy's character fought me.
> 
> But I still love this chapter. It's just... It sets up the rest of the story (yes, you heard that right!).
> 
> Thanks, everyone, for the kudos and comments. I truly appreciate it. This is one of the first stories I have felt truly invested in.
> 
> I do want to warn everyone: I go back to work on Monday. Chapters will slow, but they will NOT stop. I have up to Chapter 9 completed, so don't fret!

 

Respect & Responsibility

 

 

            Steve groaned as the light filtered in from the window. He shifted in his bed and tightened his grip on whoever he had managed to get into his bed. His hands moved over the person’s side, their hip, and then he realized that the person was definitely male, and definitely not someone he had met at a party or had brought home with the intentions of being in bed. He pulled his hand back quickly, as if he were burned, and opened his eyes.

 

            Right. It was Hargrove. Thank fuck the guy was still asleep. He wouldn’t have any clue that Steve was about to treat him like one of his gals. He held his breath as he looked over the blonde’s face. Despite the painting of bruises and cuts, he looked genuinely relaxed. His brows weren’t furrowed, his lips were parted, and the ugly lines of anger were erased. He looked young like this, and Steve could almost appreciate him. Almost. The bruising sort of ruined it, but it also left a coil of shame and pity in his stomach.

 

            Steve reached up and slid a curl of blonde hair from Hargrove’s face and frowned. Sure, he wasn’t going to talk about this to anyone, but something lingered in the back of his mind. Did he want a friendship with Hargrove? Was it worth it? Should he even try? He rubbed his eyes and sighed. That was the absolute worst idea he had ever come up with—friends with Billy Hargrove. Hardy-ha-ha.

 

            But what about Hargrove’s home? It was Thanksgiving. Sure, he was on his own, too, but his parents weren’t here. He had a suspicion that Hargrove’s dad was there, but the holiday wouldn’t be celebrated. Nancy had been kind (or was it pity?) and invited him to her family’s dinner, but he had an inkling that he wasn’t going to go.

 

            “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Billy had apparently woken up, and Steve had been staring. His cheeks flared in embarrassment and he snorted to cover it up.

 

            “Whatever, Hargrove. It’s not like you’re much to look at,” Steve sat up and tossed his legs over the side of the bed. He was glad his back was turned to the other boy—he couldn’t exactly face him after he had been caught staring.

 

            “Mm, you sure do a lot of looking. Nobody likes a liar,” Billy stretched out like a cat, arms above his head and back arched. He looked over at Steve’s back and pursed his lips. The ass hadn’t turned around, but whatever. He could deal. He sat up slowly and squeezed his eyes shut. His head was _still_ killing him.

 

            “Pretty full of yourself, you know that?” Steve got up and snatched a pair of jeans off the floor. He yanked them on, ignoring the shuffling behind him. After a few minutes and no response, Steve huffed. “Nothing to say, Hargrove? Finally stopping your bullshit?” He turned around and froze. Ah, shit. This isn’t what he thought he’d have to deal with.

 

            Billy was sitting up on the bed, but his knees were brought up and parted so that his head could rest between them. His hands were cradling his face and it looked as if he was going to be sick.

 

            “Hargrove? What’s up?” Steve eased forward and settled near the edge of the bed.

 

            “Fucking head hurts,” What concerned Steve the most was that some of what Billy said sounded slurred.

 

            “How… how hard did he hit you?” Steve flinched back; he was ready for Hargrove to explode. His only saving grace was that it might hurt too much for him to retaliate.

 

            “Harder than usual,” Billy’s skull pounded. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the alcohol he had drank or the injuries. It could be a hangover, but even then, it was _awful_. He pressed the butt of his palms into his eyes and sucked a breath through his clenched teeth. His jaw hurt, but not as much as his head. “Just need medicine and a cigarette. I’ll be good.”

 

            “I have pain medicine, but my mom’ll kill me if you smoke in here, so don’t even try,” Steve got off the bed again and disappeared through the door of the bedroom. His mind kept rolling what Billy said through his head. _Harder than usual…_ This was normal? Usual? Had all those bruises and cuts that Billy showed up with at school been from his dad? The last ones he remembered were long and splotchy on Hargrove’s back. He had seen them in the shower after practice, too involved on the court to notice. He figured they were from a brawl at a party or something. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

 

            When Steve stepped into the bathroom, his eyes dropped to the pile of clothes. The shirt was covered in dry blood, and his stomach turned. The night before Thanksgiving? Really? What had Billy said to piss his dad off? He was good at that shit, so he assumed it started on Billy’s end. He turned and grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen. If Billy had cigarettes, they were in his jean pockets. It wasn’t like Steve wanted to look through his clothing, but he also didn’t think Billy was up to bending down.

 

            Grudgingly, Steve filtered through the pile of clothes until he found the blonde’s jeans. Of course, a zippo lighter and a half-empty pack of cigarettes. He pulled them out and paused. Out of all the clothes on the floor, he noticed that boxers or briefs were missing. His cheeks flushed and he backed up. Right. That wasn’t weird at all. He cleared his throat, as if someone had caught him looking (seriously, he was just getting smokes!), and turned to walk back into the bedroom.

 

            Billy was in the same position he had left him in. He walked over and sat down in the same spot.

 

            “I’ve got medicine and your cigarettes, but you’ll have to smoke outside,” Steve realized he had forgotten a drink for Hargrove to take the pills with, but he didn’t complain. Billy took the pills, swallowed them dry, and then took the carton of cigarettes and the zippo lighter. Steve noticed that his hands shook, but he didn’t mention it. He was sure that Billy didn’t want to talk about it, no matter how much Steve wanted to.

 

            “I’ll be fine,” Billy finally got off the bed, but he didn’t look at Steve. Instead, he made his way to the door and down the stairs. The throbbing in his skull was enough to cause dancing lights in his vision, even when his eyelids were open. He growled to himself and didn’t look behind him to see if Harrington followed. This wasn’t something he wanted to discuss. It was what it was, and nothing could change what was happening at his house. He shoved the patio door open after unlocking it and stepped outside. The cold air bit at him, but he loved it. It felt crisp in his nose, in his head, through his body. He breathed in like he had been starved for oxygen.

 

            “You could shut the door, you know.” Steve had apparently gotten dressed in the time it took Billy to get outside and light a smoke. He could hear the condescending tone, but he ignored it. Who the fuck cared? It wasn’t like he had any animals that could run off. When he didn’t respond to Steve, he heard the door shut.

 

            Steve hadn’t come outside, but that was okay. Billy put the cigarette between his lips and sucked like it was a lost lover. He closed his eyes and shivered. Last night had been rough, but he knew that if he didn’t report home for dinner (because _respect_ and _responsibility_ , Billy), he would be in for much worse. While he didn’t want to spend Thanksgiving with his dad, the asshole wouldn’t have it any other way. He would force Billy to talk, respectfully, as they ate over a shit meal in a shit house in a shit fucking town.

 

            Smoke seeped out between Billy’s lips. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back while he took the cigarette from his mouth. He blew the smoke up in a long exhale; preparing to see his dad after a beating was the second hardest part. The cigarette burned faster than he wanted it to; he threw the stub into the pool, because fuck you, Steve Harrington, and turned to enter the house. When he got inside, Steve was somewhere upstairs. He could hear him moving around, but he ignored it. Honestly, what was that prick expecting? Sudden friendship? He huffed and walked over to the front door.

 

            Right. His shoes were there. Should he even grab his clothes? Steve could just toss them for all that he cared. It wasn’t like he didn’t have more clothes. He tugged his shoes on and glanced toward the stairs that led to Steve. He wasn’t the type to say bye. He also wasn’t the type to stick around.

 

            With that in mind, Billy eased the front door of the house open and left.

 

            When Steve came down the stairs and couldn’t find Hargrove, he couldn’t say that he wasn’t surprised, but he was also… _worried_. Where was that idiot going? How was he going to get there? Was it even his concern anymore? The asshole wasn’t drunk and he was at least in a hoodie and sweat pants. He wouldn’t get too cold. Steve felt as if he were trying to convince himself.

 

            Dread building in his stomach, Steve wandered over to the phone and dialed Nancy’s number. After all, he still had to decide if he was having a meal with Nancy’s family or waiting to see if Hargrove showed up again.

 

~ ~

 

            It took only one hitched ride and Billy was back at his house. It was pretty easy to get around the town, which bothered him. No one would have stopped to pick him up in Cali. Here, they did it with a smile and a wave. Granted, his face sort of made the ride awkward, but he refused to say anything more to the woman at the wheel. She dropped him off about a half mile from his house (he did not want his dad to see the car), and he hoofed it the rest of the way home.

 

            The worst part about coming back was that his dad always knew he left. It didn’t matter if in his haze of pain that he had snuck out. Neil _knew_ he had gone somewhere. He always did. Had he ever mentioned that the first hit was the worst? He trudged up to the house and refrained from cussing beneath his breath. The fact that he had to knock on his own damn door was humiliating, but he did it, anyway. He hoped it was the right mix of attention grabbing and polite, otherwise this wasn’t going to go well.

 

            The door opened and Billy swallowed; fear settled into his gut as Neil opened the screen door and nodded his head. Thank god. Billy hung his head and hated how submissive he felt. He walked passed Neil and into the home.

 

            “Where did you go?” Neil turned to look at Billy. “And where are your clothes?”

 

            “A friend’s,” Billy realized he hadn’t tacked on ‘sir,’ and felt his stomach curl. “Sir, and I had to shower. He gave these to me to wear.”

 

            “Oh? This friend have a name?” Billy could hear the sneer. He realized too late that he had said ‘he.’ Neil would have been okay if it had been a gal. He knew, after all, that his son was a god damn faggot.

 

            “It’s a player on the team—Steve, sir,” Billy could see Neil calculating everything, from the way he spoke Steve’s name to how his fingers twitched and his chest moved. He was looking for any sign that Billy liked Steve, and he was in some serious fucking trouble if he let any sort of indication that he did, in fact, like him (and he didn’t). Neil stepped close to Billy, who held his breath and kept his gaze on his dad’s nose. He was supposed to look him in the eye, but it was difficult. Lying to Neil never worked simply because, well, it was his dad. He grew up with him.

 

            “At least you don’t look like a faggot,” Neil sneered as Billy flinched. He tried so damn hard not to make a face, or glare, or move, but being called a faggot was so unbearably awful. It was who he was, and his dad made sure to grind into him that what he was, was, in fact, _wrong_ , no matter how young he had been at the time.

 

            “Can I go to my room now, sir?” Billy managed. He hated how weak his voice sounded. Neil nodded, though, and Billy turned to walk to his room. Before he could go two steps, Neil had him by the shoulder. The hold was rough, squeezing enough to make Billy hiss.

 

            “What do you say, boy?”

 

            “Thank you, sir,” Billy wasn’t facing Neil, so he closed his eyes and hoped it had been enough. When the hand let go, he shuddered and continued his walk to his room. He was okay—for now. He opened the door and then slid it shut. Then, of course, he got an eyeful of his room. Things were shattered, a couple shelves broken, and there was blood on the floor. Billy’s stomach turned and he closed his eyes. For a moment, it was too much. The pain, the dread of being there, the anxiety of wondering when the next hit will come. He itched for another cigarette, but he needed to clean the damn room.

 

            The cleaning didn’t take long. He threw out several items, fixed his shelves, and made his bed. He was waiting to clean the floor last. It wouldn’t do to have blood stains on his floor. He knew that it wasn’t okay, but by the time he got the scrub brush, the hot water, and the soap, he was exhausted again. How long had he slept the night before? Two hours? He dropped to his knees next to the bloody carpet and poured some soap over it. His head throbbed for a few moments, and he had to stop, but once it was dull enough that he could think, he began to clean again.

 

            It took around five minutes of scrubbing, but Billy figured it was as good as it was going to get. He tossed the scrub brush in the garbage and rinsed the bloody water down the toilet. Once he was finished, he walked into the kitchen. His dad was cooking what he dubbed as a Thanksgiving meal. It was sort of a lunch and a dinner, landing around one or two in the afternoon. Billy didn’t say anything as he rinsed the bucket out and then dried it to put it away.

 

            “Are you going to offer to help, Billy? Isn’t that the respectful thing to do?” Neil had turned toward him and Billy felt that fear in his gut again. He was preparing for the first hit again even though he had done nothing wrong (that he could think of, anyway).

 

            “Sorry, sir,” Billy turned to face Neil completely while gripping the bucket. Part of him wanted to throw fists or say something really fucking stupid, but he pushed that down in favor of not getting his face beat in any more than it already was. “Is there anything that I can help with?”

 

            “I keep having to discuss respect and responsibility to you, Billy. It gets exhausting,” Neil sighed, as if this was hard on him. Billy tried to keep himself from scowling, tried to keep his face blank and open, as if he were actively listening.

 

            “I’m sorry, sir,” Billy stated again. “What do you want me to do?”

 

            “Tell me about Steve.”

 

            It was sudden enough that it threw Billy off his game. He blinked in surprise and then flushed. Oh, fuck, it had been some sort of damn trap. He could feel the heat spreading from his chest to his neck, into his cheeks. He stepped back from his dad and swallowed. Neil had noticed the movement, his lips were peeling back, and Billy was beginning to panic.

 

            “There’s nothing, dad—sir—there’s _nothing_. He’s just a teammate. I promised I wouldn’t fuck up this time, and I meant it. I won’t do it,” Billy was rambling now, he knew that, but he didn’t want to be hit again. His head was still throbbing, his chest a continuous ache with each stuttered breath.

 

            “I didn’t raise a fucking faggot,” Neil seethed, “If you want that sort of twisted, despicable life style, you will _not_ live in this house! Do you hear me, Billy!?” He reached out and yanked the bucket away from Billy. It clattered to the ground and Billy took a step back. Where was the first hit? When would it land? Where would it land? He stared at his dad, his heart beating hard enough to make him dizzy.

 

            “I’m not, dad, I swear it. He’s just a teammate,” Billy insisted. He hated how desperate he sounded. He _should_ leave. This was his out. This was his opportunity to say fuck it and leave. His dad was threatening him, after all, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Somewhere in his stupid piece of shit head, he thought that maybe, just maybe, they could have a relationship. God, he was fucking _stupid_.

 

            Billy made the mistake of lifting his hands, palms out, hoping in some way to placate his dad. Neil took it as an offense and suddenly, Billy’s back was hitting the stove. He hit the handle of one of the pots with his arm while he tried to gain purchase so he wouldn’t fall, and it toppled over. Boiling water washed over his lower back and soaked into the sweats and _fuck that really fucking hurt_. Billy couldn’t help the yelp that escaped him and he jerked forward. Steam rose off the clothes where the pan had spilled its contents, and Billy wondered if the burn was as bad as it felt.

 

            When Billy looked up at his dad, ready for another hit, he was surprised by the reserved expression on Neil’s face. He hadn’t seen this before. It wasn’t any less frightening; the way his dad looked over the stove and then over him made his skin crawl. His back felt like it was on fire, but he tried desperately to ignore it. Instead, he stared at Neil, a mix between fear and curiosity making it hard to focus (or was that the burn on his back?).

 

            “Get your fucking car keys,” Neil snapped, and Billy responded immediately. He stumbled out of the kitchen and picked up the keys to his Camaro. He looked back at Neil. He was waiting for the next order. The next hit. This was confusing to him. He had been pushed and then burned. It doesn’t explain to him how this beating would go. He wasn’t even sure what was going on and he was completely out of his head. “Get out. Get out and don’t plan on coming home. Not until Susan and Max are back.”

 

            The feeling of abandonment wasn’t ever this clear to Billy before, even if it wasn’t technically abandonment. No, whatever this was, it hurt worse than abandonment. He stared at Neil, temporarily frozen where he was.

 

            “Did you not hear me, you useless, waste of fucking space?” Neil pointed to the door. “Get. Out. You don’t belong here.”

 

            That was all Billy needed in encouragement. He made a beeline for his room, grabbed his wallet, and rushed out of the house. He looked back at the door as Neil slammed it shut and shivered. Fuck. How many times was he going to leave his damn house without his fucking jacket?! He heaved, overwhelmed with what just happened, and walked over to his car. He yanked the door open and sank into the driver’s seat.

 

            Where would he go? Not Harrington’s. The guy had saved his ass once. Twice was unacceptable. No, Hargrove would just drive. He would drive until he was out of gas, and then maybe he would know what to do. He shoved his foot into the clutch and turned the engine over. Normally, the sound of the machine roaring to life would have him in thrills. Now, he just wanted to throw up. He yanked the car in reverse, kicked gravel as he turned the car around, and then slammed it into first gear. Before he was fifty feet down the road, he had managed to whip it into fourth, the tires screeching on the pavement along with his thoughts—turning around and around and around.


	7. Billy fucking Hargrove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this chapter. I love the banter between Steve and Billy and I love how torn Steve is about Billy in general. Does he like him? Hate him? Does he want to punch him? Kiss him? IT'S ALL TOO CONFUSING.
> 
> Thank you, loves, for coming along with me in this story. I'm currently writing Chapter 10, and I have enjoyed every single comment you have left me. They certainly are motivational.
> 
> By the by: If you love writing these two dolts, let me know. I'm dying to roleplay (like I used to do in the good ole days). Just let me know in the comments and I'll respond. :)

 

 

Billy fucking Hargrove

 

 

            Steve hadn’t expected Hargrove to come back; the call with Nance confirmed that he would head over to her place. If nothing else, her family was used to having him, and they didn’t mind the whole break up thing (even though they should probably be pissed about what he said about Nance). He wondered if they even knew. He grabbed his keys, locked up the house, and climbed into his car. He had emptied out the groceries earlier, so at least he didn’t have to worry about that.

 

            No, his mind wasn’t on groceries, but it was on a certain blonde. Steve pulled his car into reverse, eased himself around the drive, and pulled onto the road. Frustration made him grip the wheel as he thought more about what had happened. He had let his guard down, for one, and slept with the asshole. Well, in the same bed. They hadn’t slept _together_ and that _wasn’t_ something he was thinking about. The pink on his cheeks and the flush of heat in his body told him otherwise, but he ignored it. This was out of his realm—that was all—and wasn’t that a fucking joke? Hargrove threw him for a bigger loop than the Upside Down. The guy should get an award for that.

 

            Speaking of—Steve heard the roar of the engine before he saw the Camaro. He looked up into his review mirror and his heart leapt into is throat. The Camaro was coming onto his car at a speed that was so fucking Billy it made his head hurt. He yanked his wheel, pulling the BMW off to the side so that he wouldn’t get rear-ended by the asshole. The Camaro roared passed him, not slowing down, and suddenly, Steve was furious. One, that wasn’t safe, two, who the fuck did Billy think he was, and three—what the hell was Billy up to? Did he _have_ a death wish?

 

            At this point, Steve had two choices: go to Nancy’s or follow the Camaro.

 

            Of course, Steve had some sort of death wish along with Hargrove. He pulled his BMW back onto the road and hit the gas. Wherever Hargrove was going, or whatever he was doing, couldn’t be good—not at that speed. He was glad that the roads, while windy, were clear enough that he could keep an eye on the blue streak of car.

 

            The hard turns and speeds lasted about seven minutes. It didn’t take long to get to places in this small town, and Steve wasn’t surprised at where they ended up. It was too cold for anyone to be at the quarry, and as Billy parked his car, Steve parked his own right behind him. He was _not_ giving Hargrove an easy way out.

 

            As soon as Steve was out of his car, Hargrove was out of his own car and leaning against the driver side door. He had thought for a moment that Hargrove would have attacked him for following, but he just stood there, smoking one of his cigarettes, still in Steve’s hoodie and sweat pants. Steve clenched his jaw and let the anger of almost being rear-ended move his feet toward Hargrove.

 

            “Hargrove,” Steve snapped, stepping directly into the blonde’s personal space. They had been doing that a lot. Personal space didn’t actually exist between them, and Steve wasn’t sure when that started. “You have a death wish, you goddamn idiot?”

 

            When those ice-blue eyes finally fell on him, Steve hesitated. They were pink-rimmed and bloodshot. His lips were trembling around the cigarette, and if Steve looked close enough, Billy’s whole body was shaking. He wanted to take back what he had said, but it was out there now. Hell, Billy’s cigarette was half-way burned through, but he hadn’t flicked off the burnt section yet. It simply hung there.

 

            “What happened?” Steve stayed within a foot of Hargrove. He didn’t want to move; he wasn’t giving him an out, even if those eyes, so intently on him, made him uncomfortable. It was then that Steve noticed the distinct smell of green beans—and what the actual fuck? “And why do you smell like green beans?” Steve’s nose had crinkled. He didn’t like green beans, and Billy didn’t seem like the cooking type, so this was a little weird.

 

            “It’s Thanksgiving,” Billy replied stiffly around his cigarette. “Green beans are a part of that.”

 

            “No shit, Hargrove,” Steve rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “But green beans wouldn’t send you at top speed through the street, almost creaming my ass, either. Or send you here, so… What. Happened?”

 

            Billy’s whole body hurt. His face hurt, his chest hurt, and now his lower back felt like it was on fire. He couldn’t stop the shaking, and that had pissed him off. He could barely breathe in the nicotine from his cigarette because, well, why even try at this point? He reached up and pinned the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. When he flicked it to the ground, he grinned at Harrington.

 

            “With how you stalked me, I’m thinking you’d like it if I creamed your ass,” Billy’s grin widened at Steve’s sputtering—at the way he unlaced his arms and clenched his fists, at the way his cheeks darkened and his eyes widened, at the way he obviously wanted to punch Billy. It was all a good distraction, at least.

 

            “Seriously? That’s where you want to go with this?” Steve ran his fingers through his hair in frustration and then planted them on his hips. “You look like shit, Hargrove, and that’s not the first time I’ve said that to you in the last twenty-four hours.”

 

            “You picked me up, demanded that I sleep in your bed, and now you’re talking about your ass…” Billy shrugged his shoulders and winced. Damn. Talking to Harrington let him relax enough to forget about all the wounds, even if they pulsed continuously.

 

            “And you’re just avoiding the damn question!” Steve reached out and grabbed the front of the hoodie. He bunched it into his fists and tugged Billy forward. “Answer my fucking question, Hargrove. What the fuck happened to you?”

 

            Billy was getting sick of people hauling him around. He was sick of the demands that were always put on him. He was sick of hiding and pretending he was something he wasn’t. He stared down at Steve and his hands itched. Half of him wanted to slam their lips together and the other half wanted to punch him. Instead, he shoved Steve as hard as he possibly could. It yanked him forward at first, with Steve’s hands in the hoodie, but the teen let go enough so that he could stumble back.

 

            “None of your fucking business!” Billy snarled. “You think because of _one_ night, we’re some type of _buddies_? That I’ll just spill everything to you? You’re not that good, Harrington, no matter what that fucking school believes.”

 

            Steve looked pissed again and that was a _good_ thing. Billy didn’t want his pity.

 

            “You’re lucky you’re fucked up already, Hargrove,” Steve sneered and Billy laughed.

 

            “Oh, is this finally the _King_ I’ve heard so much about? ‘Cause honestly, I was starting to think that you were as much of a pussy as that—“ And that’s how far Billy got before Steve was on him. His back slammed into the door of the Camaro and he hissed as the now cold liquid pressed into the burns on his back. His shoulders and back ached for a second, but it was washed out quickly by the rage that began boiling in his blood. Steve yanked Billy forward and then shoved him to the side. He stumbled along the rocks and then straightened himself.

 

            “Shut. Up,” Steve warned. His breath was ragged and Billy just grinned more.

 

            “What? Can’t handle knowing you’re _shit_ , Harrington? That your girl is getting plowed by some _freak_?” Billy grunted as Steve drove him to the ground. Pain blasted across his chest and he could feel the rocks digging into his shoulder blades, his back, his ass. But that wasn’t what got Billy. No, as soon as his head hit the ground with a hard thud, everything went black.

 

            Steve was on top of Hargrove, straddling his hips, ready to plow his face in when the teen went completely limp. Panic seized Steve’s body and he stopped breathing for a moment. Time stilled and Steve felt like a fucking piece of _shit_ because Billy was already beaten to pulp, and clearly, he was hurt more than he had let on because of _course he fucking was_. His brain helpfully supplied the memory from this morning of Billy cradling his head in his hands after having helped Steve sleep, for the first time, since he had been in the Upside Down.

 

            And now Steve definitely felt like a piece of shit.

 

            “Billy?” Steve’s voice was choked. He didn’t move from his straddled position, but he did reach forward to slide his fingertips over the parts of Billy’s face that wasn’t bruised or cut. He stroked the skin and clenched his jaw. Shit. This wasn’t what he had wanted. He wanted to know what was wrong, why Billy had been freaking out, and then he had _added_ to it. He couldn’t even use the excuse that Billy provoked him. He _knew_ he was being provoked and he _let it get to him_. As always, Billy caused a scene so that he didn’t have to open himself up. “Billy, come on, asshole…”

 

            After a few moments, Billy’s eyelids fluttered open. Steve’s breath caught. He gently tilted Billy’s face up so he could look at Billy’s eyes. They were glazed and unfocused, rolling, and before he could actually say anything, his eyelids slid shut and he was out again.

 

            “No, Billy, stay awake. Come on, stay awake for me,” Steve tucked some of the blonde curls behind Billy’s ear. The glint of his earing caught his eye and for a moment, Steve truly hated Billy. He hated how he made his stomach clench. He hated how his heart sped up when Billy was close to him. He hated that, every time those icy blue eyes landed on him, his skin flushed. He especially hated the fact that right now, he was scared more out of his mind than he was with those damned monsters chasing him.

 

            “Billy,” Steve looked back at their cars. He could get him into the BMW. The Camaro would have to stay there, but the best thing he could do for Billy was to get him to the clinic or the hospital. When he looked down, Billy’s eyes were fluttering open again. “Hey, hey, stay awake for me, okay?” He repeated and he ignored how desperate he sounded.

 

            “Sorry, princess,” Billy slurred and Steve froze. No. _No_. Billy fucking Hargrove was not going to apologize to him like this. He pushed himself up from Billy’s lap, leaned down, and managed to push an arm under Billy’s shoulder blades. He pulled him up and tried to ignore the noise that Billy made.

 

            “That’s it—stay awake for me,” Steve blew out a breath as he pulled Billy up to his feet. The other teen was all muscle and bulk, and unfortunately, Steve wasn’t. It was difficult to keep him up, especially as Billy rocked back and forth between consciousness. “Come on, Billy. Just a few feet.” He grunted as Billy went limp again and dragged him to the passenger door on the BMW.

 

            When Steve settled Billy down onto the gravel next to the door, he paused. He noticed something was wet on the back of his hoodie from supporting him, and then realized it was where the smell of those awful vegetables came from. He stared at Billy for a moment. His head was lulled to one side, his eyelids closed again. Scenarios popped into his mind, filling him of ways that Billy could have gotten green beans on his back. None of them seemed reasonable or innocent. He yanked the passenger side door open and then, with some difficulty (maybe a lot-the asshole was heavy!), pulled Billy onto the back seat of the BMW.

 

            “Christ,” Steve huffed as he finally arranged Billy’s prone body on the seat. He pushed hair out of his face and looked over the blonde carefully. He remembered Billy telling him ‘harder than usual.’ He remembered the muted pain behind his eyes when he made eye contact. He remembered the way Billy moved into bed last night, careful and slow. Perhaps the last blow on the ground had pushed him over the edge? Maybe he had a concussion?

 

            “You’re a lot of trouble, you know,” Steve brushed more blonde curls from Billy’s face and then pulled his hand back. Shit. He was supposed to hate Billy, not feel sorry for him. “Billy, wake up. I need to know where to take you.” He ground his teeth. Hospital? Clinic? When Billy didn’t respond, he shut the passenger side door and climbed onto the driver’s seat. “Fine. Hospital it is. I’m not going to be responsible for a dead Hargrove.”

 

            The idea that Billy could die froze Steve. He sat, hands on the wheel, his chest tight and his stomach rolling. Sure, Billy wasn’t the most likeable person in the world, but there were _reasons_ and he had seen another side of Billy, right? A less terrible side? There was that person there, even if it was buried beneath a whole lot of _fuck you_. He squeezed the steering wheel and breathed in slowly before exhaling. Steve had to calm down, and he knew that, but having Billy in his backseat did strange things to him.

 

            “I swear,” Steve reversed the BMW and then turned it around. He would let Billy get the Camaro later. Right now, the blue car was the last thing Steve cared about. “Hospital it is, Billy.”

 

            And when had it become _Billy_? The more he was around the asshole, the less he felt like referring to him as his last name, even in his thoughts. This was a dangerous road, and Steve knew that. Yet, here he was, driving down that road (figuratively and literally) with that asshole blonde in his back seat.

 

            “Steve…?” Billy sounded _wrecked_ and Steve couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder.

 

            “Hey, just lie back. Don’t move. I think you’ve damaged your head more than it can handle,” Steve tried to throw a smile back at him, but he knew he looked nervous. Hell, he _felt_ nervous. He looked back at the road and tried to ignore the broken moan that followed a hard bump.

 

            “Where… Steve…” Billy blinked slowly and tried to gather his bearings. He couldn’t. Too many thoughts, too many words, too much of _everything_ swirled around him. His stomach lurched and he fought the urge to throw up. For once, the world was there for him, and after a few hard jostles of the car, he passed out again.

 

            “Billy?” Steve looked back and sighed. Out again. He looked at the road and decided that he was going to be spending Thanksgiving at the hospital with Billy fucking Hargrove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's this, "well, Steve didn't go to the hospital when HE was knocked out" but hey, Steve was knocked out!
> 
> Steve is secretly a mama bear and takes care of everyone, no matter how much he hates them. 
> 
> And, of course, Steve doesn't want to be blamed for shit, soooo....
> 
> See you tomorrow. ;)


	8. Drugs and Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm terrible because I can't stop myself from posting this chapter.
> 
> FYI: I'm off of break from work starting again tomorrow (I'm an English teacher--can you tell?).
> 
> I decided to post this bonus chapter before things start to get a little slower on my end. Please excuse me this week; I cannot post every day, but I'll try to get at least two-three done by Friday.
> 
> I love ALL of your comments and kudos! Thank you so much for those!

Drugs and Walls

 

            _The sand was warm and felt amazing between his toes. The sun was high in the sky, beating along his shoulders and his chest, and Billy loved it. At seven, all he ever wanted to do was be outside. The waves called to him, and he went, sinking his feet into the wet sand while he walked up and down the shoreline. Beside him, a blonde, beautiful woman strode, a blinding smile on her face and a twinkle in her blue eyes._

_When she looked down on him, Billy felt like he owned the world. Her smile ignited that happiness inside of him that, unbeknownst to him, would be hidden for years and years. He reached up and she gladly took him into her arms and spun. Her laughter was like sprinkles from the waves, covering his skin and making everything right. When he was set back onto the sand and he looked up again, she was gone, and the emptiness drilled into his chest began to expand._

_The sand was replaced by hardwood. It was cold and unforgiving, but he was on his back this time. His hands were raised and he was crying. He was eight, and for some reason, his dad was upset. He wasn’t sure why, but it was the first time he remembered being smacked. He had dropped something—it spilled—and he wasn’t fast enough to clean it up before the kick was delivered to his side._

_The hardwood was swept from beneath him, and instead, he was lying on grass. He was ten, in the backyard, staring at the sky. He wondered, then, where she was. What happened to her. His dad kept it a secret. He was sure he knew, but every time he asked, his dad went into a rage. It explained the blood in his mouth and the bruising on his cheek._

_The second time he asked, Billy had been hit hard enough to have a couple of his baby teeth knocked out. He had bled so much that he thought he should have gone to the doctor. His dad told him to stop acting like a pussy, get in the bathroom, and spit the blood out and wash his mouth._

_After that, Billy stopped asking._

_Maxine and Susan moved in. The beatings became less frequent, but Billy always looked over his shoulder. He had a deep-seated hatred for Susan. She replaced his mother, who he wasn’t even sure what happened to, and suddenly Maxine was a golden child. He looked at her like he had looked at Billy before his mom disappeared. He was willing to give her everything he wouldn’t give his own son._

_That was when respect and responsibility were ground into his skull. Sometimes, more physically than other times. It was never bad around Susan or Maxine, but if he did something stupid enough, his dad would bide his time until he was alone with Billy. He learned quickly how to hide bruises and avoid contact, and eventually, Billy became the person he was to survive in his father’s house._

_But Billy never forgot the last time he saw his mother—her smile, her laughter, the moment she swept him off his feet and spun him around. It was ingrained more than anything else in his head, even if he came to resent her for leaving (did she leave? He wasn’t sure)._

~ ~

 

            Billy, when he finally woke up, was surrounded by white and the smell of antibacterial cleaning supplies. He was surprised to find that he was lying on his stomach—something he simply never did. He turned his head to the side and grimaced. The movement was slow, and the world spun as he did. It wasn’t the type of spinning from pain, though. It was drug-induced spinning. He blinked slowly, and when he did try to think, he noted how slow his thoughts were moving. Drugs. They had to be the reason for his memories, too. Normally, those were kept in a box somewhere in the back of his mind. Having them present made him feel _normal_ and he couldn’t afford that. Right. Where was he?

 

            There wasn’t a pillow, but Billy guessed it was so he didn’t suffocate. He slid his arms along the bed, an IV following, and shuddered. The room was cold and so was he. More importantly, though, he wanted to know how he got here. He tried to push his hands underneath him to sit up, but his arms were like rubber and slipped out beneath him.

 

            “Woah, don’t try that,” that voice. Billy turned his head, and lo and behold, Steve Harrington was now standing at his bedside, his face contorted in concern as he eyed Billy. “You should wait until a nurse comes back. And, uhm, Billy…”

 

            The uncertainty in Steve’s voice had Billy looking at him, but it was difficult from his stomach-down position.

 

            “Did your dad… did he burn you?” Steve was biting his lower lip, and fuck, Billy had no business wondering what those lips could do. It had to be the drugs. Hell, he wasn’t even angry at the question.

 

            “Fell into the stove,” Billy’s voice was almost foreign to him. It sounded… syrup-like. Slow—and it was obvious he had to think before talking, and how humiliating was that?

 

            “That’s the classic fall into the doorknob excuse, Billy,” Steve frowned and Billy wondered when he started being ‘Billy’ to Steve. He liked it. He wouldn’t deny that. Now, if he could get him to start sounding a little less concerned and _then_ say his name…

 

            “Billy,” Steve reached over and brushed his fingers through the blonde curls that covered half of Billy’s face. He pushed them back so they could see each other easier; that’s what he told himself.

 

            “Worried about me, princess?” Billy grinned, but he could feel the constriction in his chest and the sting in his eyes. He was hospitalized. Again. This wasn’t his first go around with his dad, but he normally avoided the hospital. The first and last time he had gone because of a beating made him wish he hadn’t (it felt like he should have after the second round).

 

            “Frankly, yeah, I am,” Steve tugged the chair up to the bed and settled down. “I mean. We had our scuffle at the quarry, and you seemed okay, and then you weren’t. I get you here, and there’s… Billy, you have _second degree burns_ on your back, and that isn’t even what I was worried about! You have a _concussion_ , Billy! Since _yesterday_. You could have—you could have gone to sleep and not woken up. What the fuck, man? Don’t you care even a little bit about yourself?”

 

            The question had Billy thinking. He watched Steve and noted the way his chest fell when he was frustrated, the way his cheeks tinted pink, the way his hands curled into fists. It was adorable, he thought sluggishly.

 

            “Last time I checked, Harrington, I only cared about myself,” Billy had paused throughout his sentence. Jesus. What medicine had they given him?

 

            “Billy…” Steve looked crushed for a moment and Billy wanted to hate him for it, but he was so tired. He pressed his cheek into the bed and closed his eyes. That, at least, removed Steve from his line of sight.

 

            “Yes, princess?” Billy swallowed because he could hear the hitch in his voice.

 

            “Your dad did it, didn’t he?” Steve was pushy, damn it, and Billy was going to crack under that concerned voice from that concerned pretty face and _fuck_. Billy didn’t respond, and he kept his eyes closed. Steve hadn’t even argued against the stupid nickname, and _that_ made Billy’s body warm in ways it shouldn’t.

 

            “He did it,” Steve breathed and Billy clenched his jaw. It didn’t hurt, which he guessed was a testament to whatever drugs they had him on. “Fuck, Billy. I…”

 

What could Steve possibly say? He knew after last night that Billy’s dad was beating on him, which, hello, bad enough, but the bubbles and the angry skin on Billy’s back were so much worse.

 

            “Not a charity case,” Billy managed to choke out, “Steve—fucking—not a charity… please,” he blamed the drugs. The drugs had him so far off center that Billy had no defenses against Steve. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the moisture collecting and then spilling over the bridge of his nose. He could hear the hitch of Steve’s breath and suddenly, Billy knew Steve was _so fucking close_. He could smell his cologne, his shampoo, the stupid hair products he used, and it only made breathing harder.

 

            “I never said you were,” Steve repeated softly. He was terrified to touch Billy too intimately, but he was too concerned not to. The tears that pooled and dripped passed Billy’s nose made his chest clench. He knew Billy wasn’t the greatest person. He understood that, but in the past twenty-four hours, he had seen vulnerability that he was sure Billy hid from the rest of the world (when had he become an exception?). “Billy…”

 

            When Billy opened his eyes to look at Steve, it felt like Steve’s world was being crashed into. The ice-blue eyes that were always so angry, so spiteful, were open and bare and _terrified_. Yes, Billy was drugged, and it was obvious, but whatever had happened, combined with those drugs, knocked down the barrier that the blonde had strutted around with since arriving in Hawkins.

 

            “Princess…” Billy murmured, and for the first time, Steve felt like he had _heard_ Billy’s voice. There wasn’t any cruelty or any meanness. It was just… Billy. Deep, rumbling voice that spread from his cheeks to every limb, to the tips of his fingers.

 

            “Oh, fuck,” Steve rubbed his face. He was hoping to hide the ridiculous blush that crept along his cheeks. He was also hoping to hide how the nickname affected him, but he didn’t have to worry about it. By the time he dropped his arms, Billy was out again.

 

            “Kid?” Hopper leaned against the frame of the hospital door and crossed his arms over his chest. The way Steve jumped back from the bed made him want to smile, but once his eyes landed on the teen in the bed, he tensed. There was a blanket covering him up to his waist, and only his waist. His back was bared to the room and there was a white ointment smeared from the middle of his back to the top of his ass. They hadn’t put any gauze down yet, but they had drugged Billy to rub the stuff in. Even in his stupor, he had tried to fight the nurses and doctors. Being touched was _not_ something the kid wanted.

 

            Of course, Hopper wasn’t just concerned about the burn. His face, his chest and his concussion were also on his mind. The first suspect had been the kid who had dragged him in, but the way he looked and worried over Billy, Hopper was beginning to think he was looking in the wrong place (and, hello, he found out it was Steve Harrington). At least this was easier than the gate was. A case of violence was easier to deal with than the Upside Down characters.

 

            “Sorry,” Steve mumbled as he walked over. He could feel Hopper’s eyes boring holes into him, but he had experience with the man, so he wasn’t concerned. This is just how Hopper was.

 

            “So, you know what happened to him.” It wasn’t a question, and Steve hated that he was put on the spot. If Billy didn’t hate him yet (which, did he?), he would after this.

 

            “Ah, yeah, but…” Steve looked back at Billy and shuffled his feet.

 

            “Look, kid. Either you can tell me, or I can try to wrangle it out of him. You think he’ll tell me the truth?” Hopper cocked an eyebrow and watched Steve look at his feet. “I didn’t think so. Now, I don’t think you did this” he put up his hands as Steve snapped his head up to look at him, “wait! I don’t think you did this, but it looks weird, you bringing him into the hospital with no real story. That’s why I’m here, right?”

 

            “Right,” Steve ran his fingers through his hair. “But… can we talk outside? If he wakes up, I really don’t want him to hear this.” He looked back at the bed again. His gaze lingered on the bubbling skin, the single line of bruising on his back (what had even made that bruise?), and then his messy mop of blonde hair. His back was rising and falling evenly, a good indication that he was in another drug-induced sleep. At least he was being monitored now.

 

            “Sure thing. I need coffee, anyway,” Hopper stepped out and walked toward the complimentary coffee cart. He could hear Steve following him, so he didn’t turn around until he made it there. “Alright. Start, kid. It’s Thanksgiving and she is not going to be happy about me not being there.”

 

            “Sorry,” Steve grumbled and looked over his shoulder again. He couldn’t help but feel that he was betraying Billy in some way. “I—uh, I found him last night on the road. He was… He was bad off, Hopper. He was bloody and beaten and I couldn’t just leave him there.” Steve was going to end up messing up his hair if he continued to push his fingers through it. “I thought maybe he had gotten into a fight, but there hadn’t been school, and he was pretty shitty. Today, he just leaves my house—“

 

            “You let him spend the night?”

 

            “Ah, yeah. Used my shower,” Steve flushed and fidgeted under Hopper’s stare. “Anyway, he left and then I saw him later…” He was not going to mention that Billy had been doing more than double the speed limit, hell no. “And we got into it… not bad. I just pushed him and when he fell, he passed the fuck out… But he had been home before that, that was it, and suddenly he’s hurt again and I _know_ , I fucking know it’s his dad.”

 

            Hopper watched Steve’s face go through a mix of emotions until it landed on anger. The kid’s eyes were glistening.

 

            “And…?” Hopper glanced toward the room Billy was in and then looked at Steve.

 

            “He wouldn’t tell me, but… I asked him, and he started freaking out. I think his dad is beating on him. I always thought— _fuck—_ I always just assumed he got into petty fights at school, and that he was an asshole for doing that, and it wasn’t even _that_. He was going home and being _beat on_.” Steve sucked in sharp breaths of air through his teeth. Sure, his parents were rarely home, but it was better than looking forward to being smacked around every day. “I mean, he was—is—an asshole, but…”

 

            “I get it, kid,” Hopper reached up and squeezed Steve’s shoulder after he poured himself a cup of coffee. It would be shit coffee, but shit coffee was better than no coffee. “I’m going to have the hospital call his dad in. We’ll see how it plays out. If I can find anything, and I mean anything, that proves your theory true, I’ll get him.” At Steve’s disbelieving look, Hopper squeezed his shoulder again. “I will.”

 

            “I don’t want him near Billy,” Steve bit out and was surprised by the viciousness of his words.

 

            “If I’m going to catch him, he has to be,” Hopper frowned and Steve hated himself even more at that moment. He was putting Billy in a position where he could be hurt. Again. Nice guy he was.

 

            “Fuck,” Steve grit his teeth. “Just let me know when to scram. Until then, I’ll be with Billy.” He turned on his heel and stalked back to the room.

 

            “Fifteen minutes,” Hopper called after him and sighed. He just had to hope that he could get something from the interaction between Billy and his dad.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wrings hands*
> 
> *hides*


	9. Pay Your Dues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a thing for pet names.
> 
> Sooo yeah.

Pay Your Dues

 

Billy hadn’t woken up again, and Steve was glad. He would have ended up spilling his guts and it may have ruined Hopper’s plan. When fifteen minutes was up (yes, he was watching, and yes, he waited counting down the time), he stood and clenched his jaw. His mind was in a whirlwind. Was this right? Was leaving Billy alone with his dad, even in a hospital, okay? What was going to happen if the guy did try to hurt Billy? What if he  _ didn’t _ and Billy had to go home with him? Then what?

 

Steve stamped down his panic. It wouldn’t do him any good, and it wasn’t like the fucking guy was a Demogorgon. Hell, he was  _ human _ . He looked down at Billy and smiled, despite himself. Billy looked relaxed, at least, his face slack with sleep. Steve hesitated. It wouldn’t hurt because Billy was asleep, right? He wouldn’t wake up and punch him, at least. He stroked his thumb over Billy’s cheek, the scratch of stubble making his heart rate pick up. Fuck, he was pathetic. Steve leaned down close enough to breathe Billy in—cigarettes, hints of alcohol and cologne, and his own musk. It wasn’t hard to pick Billy out of a crowd.

 

“I promise, if I can help it, he’ll never lay a hand on you again,” Steve murmured and brushed his lips over Billy’s temple. Heat shot through his body and a possessiveness coiled in his stomach. He straightened up and looked toward the door. With one last glance down at Billy, Steve turned and left the hospital room.

 

~ ~

 

If Billy hadn’t been in a drug-induced sleep (was he asleep?), he would have thought that Steve fucking Harrington had kissed him. Not only that, but he had promised him something ridiculous. That’s why he knew it was a dream. Although, the dream left him with warmth spread throughout his body. It was like the warmth his mother caused, but the drugs diluted it. He wished they hadn’t, but they did. 

 

~ ~

 

The next time Billy woke up, he was just as groggy as the first. He blinked several times, but couldn’t get the sleep out of his eyes. There was a blurred silhouette in front of him, and he assumed it was Steve. There wasn’t anyone else that would be here, after all.

 

“Steve…?” Billy shifted on the bed to try to ease the discomfort on his back.

 

“That’s the kid whose clothes you had on, isn’t it?” The sharpness of the question froze Billy. He sucked in a sharp breath and tried, desperately, to get his thoughts together. He was drug-addled, though, his mind moving less than half the pace than normal, and that wasn’t even saying much. Billy was bad with words while completely sober.

 

“It is,” Billy clenched his hands. The fear was rolling ferociously in his gut, unbidden by the barriers that were knocked down by whatever was running through his veins. He blinked blearily; he was still trying to clear his vision. He couldn’t see his dad’s expression, so he couldn’t predict what was next, and he could feel the way his body shook under the pressure of it all.   

 

“Excuse me?” Neil’s voice made Billy’s heart race.

 

“Yes, sir,” Billy hated how breathless he sounded, how terribly  _ small _ .

 

“I didn’t see your car outside,” Neil’s voice was accusatory, and Billy knew where this was going. “How did you get here, Billy?”

 

Billy closed his eyes and fought the tears that stung at his lashes. He breathed in shakily through his nose and tried his best to control his temper. He was a trigger just like his dad, and the realization (seriously, he was just realizing this?) made his stomach turn.

 

“I woke up here, so I don’t know,” Billy admitted and flinched as he heard the chair scrape against the floor. Neil was looming over him, and being stomach down left Billy so fucking exposed.

 

“Don’t lie to me, boy,” Neil reached over and eased the pad of his thumb into one of the blisters on his son’s back. Billy whimpered, choked, and squeezed his eyes shut.

 

“I’m not  _ lying _ ! I. Don’t. Know.” Billy spat, and that familiar grip was on his jaw again. The pressure on his back was at least gone, but his dad’s hand had his jaw, his fingers dug into his cheeks, and the ring on his hand digging into his bone. The drugs, Billy had to admit, at least made this bearable. The pain wasn’t as bad in his face (burns were different, he guessed?). He looked up at the man through his lashes, glaring despite the trembling of his lower lip.

 

“So you just  _ ended up _ here by accident?” Neil hissed, “You’re not even that hurt, Billy. You’re a fucking pussy. I’ll give you a goddamn reason to want to be here when we get home.”

 

Billy tried to pull his face away, to retaliate, but before he could, Neil had shoved him back to the bed. It was then that Billy decided not to fight. He was injured now, sure, but later would be worse, and retaliating would only make it that much more painful. At least, for the time being, he could ride out the drugs they were giving him. He held his breath as his dad leaned down, preparing himself for a blow.

 

“I’ll be back. Let’s hope I don’t run into this Steve,” Neil sneered, ignoring the alarmed expression on Billy’s face, and walked out of the room. When he turned to get a nurse, he came face-to-face with Hopper, who looked equal parts bored and determined.

 

“You won’t be back,” Hopper tilted his head toward the room, “I’m assuming, by the threat and all, that you were the one who put bruises on that kid. Oh, and the burns.”

 

“Y-you can’t tell me how I discipline my son,” Neil sputtered and Hopper rolled his eyes. This excuse. He had heard it enough times.

 

“Disciplining isn’t abuse, and what I’ve got in there, buddy,” Hopper leaned in close and scowled. “Is abuse. I also heard something about Steve? That isn’t your kid, right?” He fisted Neil’s jacket and yanked him around. “I’m guessin’ you know your Miranda rights? Don’t worry if you don’t, ‘cause I got them memorized.”

 

Neil continued to object, but not loud enough to gain attention. He was smarter than that, but apparently not smart enough to not get caught threatening his son. He looked over at the door to Billy’s hospital room and stared as a brown-haired teen glared back at him. The boy looked furious, his hands clenched, his lips set and his eyes glittering. Suddenly, Neil knew  _ exactly _ who he was looking at.

 

“You’re Steve,” Neil hissed, “You fucking faggot. Who’s the pussy in the relationship? Probably my piece of shit son.”

 

“I really think you ought to shut your mouth,” Hopper groused as he yanked the man forward. He had clasped the cuffs around him easily, and as they passed Steve, Neil spit at his feet. “You just don’t know when to quit.” Hopper shoved him forward and sent Steve a small nod before both men disappeared down the hallway.

 

Steve, startled by the slur and the spit, had jerked back. He stared at Neil in astonishment now, not so much anger. The man was fucking  _ insane _ and Billy had gone home to that every day. It was no wonder the teen brought violence with him wherever he went. Sure, it wasn’t necessarily an excuse for how much of an asshole he had been (is?), but his behavior reflected his dad’s.

 

When Steve stepped into the room, his heart fell into his stomach. Sure, Billy and he had their disputes. They had fought. Hell, Steve had gotten his fucking face thrashed, but he couldn’t help but feel for the blonde on the bed. He could see Billy shaking, hear his little gasps, and assumed he was crying (and trying to be silent about it). Steve swallowed and made his way over to Billy’s bedside. As soon as he was in line of sight, and Billy knew someone was there, the boy flinched so hard it made Steve freeze.

 

“Hey, Billy. It’s me,” Steve told his feet to fucking move and stepped up close. He saw how Billy’s shoulders relaxed, his muscles, so unbearably tight, flexing and trembling.

 

“The fuck do you want,” Billy wanted to sound mean, but instead, he sounded pretty fucking pathetic. Realization that Steve was in the room and his dad could walk in at any point dawned on him, and Billy felt a surge of panic fly through him. “Steve—wait, you need to leave. If he sees you in here, he’ll—I’ll—“ 

 

“He won’t,” Steve interrupted him as quickly as he could and placed a hand on Billy’s shoulder to keep him in place. He didn’t think Billy even noticed that he had tried to get up. “Hopper’s got him, Billy.”

 

“What…?” Billy blinked. “Who has him?”

 

“Hopper. Sherriff. Sort of surprised you haven’t run into him yet,” Steve offered a smile and sat down next to Billy so they could make eye contact. “He was, uhm, looking into your injuries and heard your dad…” And how was he supposed to tell Billy that he sort of set this up? Would Billy kill him? Hate him? Probably kill him.

 

“Shit,” Billy breathed and tried to string together thoughts that made sense. “Fuck, I need off this medicine. I can’t think.”

 

“I’d rather have you pain free and not be able to think than the other way around,” Steve watched Billy closely. “After all, I can do all the thinking for both of us.” The snort that came from Billy had Steve smiling.

 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Billy warned. It hadn’t actually set in on him yet that his dad was going to be booked. It still felt surreal. Billy would check out, go home, and his dad would be waiting for him. Anything else just wasn’t an option, but the look on Steve’s face told him otherwise. “So… you’re serious…? He’s—he’s not here?” The hopefulness in his voice made him sick to his stomach; he sounded like the damned pussy his dad claimed he was.

 

“No,” Steve glanced over Billy’s back and then closed his mouth as a nurse fluttered in. She glanced between the two, hummed, and eased over to Billy’s side.

 

“Billy, sweetheart, I’m going to have to wrap your burns. You’ll have to sit up for this, okay? It will be hard, but I promise it’ll be worth it,” she smiled warmly, but Billy didn’t feel like moving. In fact, he could stay there the rest of his life. The idea that he wasn’t going home to his dad made everything seem… distant. It was strange, as if a limb had been cut off and he was trying to access it. A dead, rotting limb, but a limb, nonetheless. 

 

“Uh, I’ll help him sit up,” Steve volunteered and the nurse nodded.

 

“Thank you. Perhaps he won’t fight so much if he’s got a friend with him,” She beamed and Steve hesitated. He remembered the remark he had shot at Billy the night before—some stupid shit about him being a loner because he was a piece of shit person. He frowned and wanted to slam his head against the bed. He said some of the stupidest shit sometimes. 

 

“You’re welcome,” Steve offered back, but it felt empty. He stood up and slid a hand over Billy’s shoulder. “I’m going to help you onto your side first, and then we’ll sit you up.” He glanced over Billy’s face for any sort of discomfort or rejection, but saw nothing. He seemed to have stepped into his own little world, and while it concerned Steve, he had to do what the nurse asked. The faster they got him bandaged, the faster he could get him to an actual bed.

 

“Ready, darling? One, two, three,” the nurse smiled as they eased Billy onto his side, “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Now we’ll sit up and get this bandaging over with.” One more round of gentle tugging had Billy sitting up with the blankets pooled around his waist. Steve noticed, immediately, that the glimmer of his earring and necklace were gone, and had a small panic attack.

 

“Where is his—uhm,” Steve motioned to his neck and the nurse looked up. He was not going to be responsible if Billy tried killing someone for his things being lost.

 

“Oh! We didn’t want it damaged. It’s right over there,” She nodded to the counter and then, while Steve held Billy’s shoulders, began to wrap his waist in soft gauze. 

 

Steve nodded in understanding. He kept his hold on Billy’s shoulders and tried his hardest not to stroke the skin with his thumbs. At this point, he wasn’t sure where he and Billy stood. One minute they were about to pummel each other (or, rather, Billy was trying to be on the receiving end of it), and the next, Steve was holding him still in the hospital. He looked down at Billy again and almost ached at the lack of expression on his face. It was easier to see Billy angry or annoyed than it was to see him expressionless. At least then, Steve knew what he was thinking.

 

“Take the drugs off,” Billy’s voice almost made Steve jump. It was sudden and his voice was a mix of exhaustion and anger.

 

“That’s not such a great idea, hun,” the nurse frowned as she wrapped the final piece of gauze.

 

“I said, take the drugs off,” Billy clenched his hands into fists and Steve squeezed his shoulders.

 

“Let me talk to him,” Steve offered and the nurse nodded, taking that as her cue to leave the room. “Look, Billy-“

 

“Don’t fucking coddle me,” Billy hissed, but his words were slurred at best. “I know what I’m doing. This isn’t… this isn’t the  _ worst _ I’ve experienced, Harrington. I have… I’m not some pussy.”

 

Steve sighed and wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose.  _ Seriously _ .

 

“Billy… it’s okay to hurt. It’s also okay to have help,” Steve looked down and wanted to flinch. Billy was staring at him and he looked  _ so lost _ . “I, uh, I mean… What I mean is that, it’s okay to need… to need help, to have help, like… You don’t gotta be an asshole to prove yourself. Fuck, Billy. You’re beaten and you have burns that are going to… scar, they’re so bad. Just… accept the help.”

 

“I don’t want their help,” Billy swallowed and leaned forward enough to rest his forehead on Steve’s collarbone. He blamed the dizziness from the drugs. Steve held his breath, his fingers tight on Billy’s shoulders as he tried desperately to figure out what to do—what to say.

 

“Then… then accept my help, Billy,” Steve moved one hand to Billy’s hair to run through the curly locks, untangling them as he went. “I’m helping, right? You helped me last night. God, I haven’t slept in fucking weeks, and last night… I could sleep. You helped me. Let me help you.” It was a bargaining chip, he knew, but he also knew that Billy wasn’t the type of person to just accept something without something else in turn.

 

“Weeks…?” Billy tilted his head up and Steve looked down at him. “Why aren’t you sleeping, princess?”

 

Steve’s cheeks flared. “I—uh, it’s complicated? I’m more worried about you. One thing at a time, right? Let me take care of you.” 

 

Billy closed his eyes and allowed Steve’s words to simply sink into his body. He noticed that the guy had stopped objecting to being called princess, and that warmed him (he was getting tired of refusing to admit certain things to himself). After contemplating Steve’s request, which took some time, considering the drugs, Billy leaned away from Steve. He tilted his head back and couldn’t help the grin when Steve’s eyes met his own.

 

“Let me take care of you, yeah?” Steve’s heart fluttered as he looked over Billy’s face. The other teen was so unbearably open right now, and he hoped, god, he hoped, that it wasn’t just the drugs. He hoped that after this, Billy continued to stay open, to somewhat trust him, to talk to him. It was like Billy was showing him a part of him that was secret, that was only  _ for him _ , and Steve hoped he wasn’t taking this in the wrong direction.

 

“You take care of enough trouble makers,” Billy managed, but his mind kept swirling back to the way Steve was looking at him. His eyes were focused on Billy, his lips, full and pink, quirked into a tiny smile. His stance was relaxed, despite what was going on. Hell, Billy had to hand it to him—Steve took things quite well, all things considered.

 

“Mm, but they’re my trouble making  _ kids _ ,” Steve amended and took a step back. He leaned down so that their eyes met and their breath mingled. “Be my king, and I’ll take care of you.”

 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Billy was torn between the pleasure that rocketed through his body at Steve calling him king and the way Steve’s eyes glittered as if he  _ knew _ . Son of a  _ bitch _ . “Yeah, uh, yeah, I can do that.” How did Steve get beneath his skin like that? How did he know how to do it? Fuck it. Billy didn’t even care at this point, as long as Steve kept talking to him like that.

 

“Smooth,” Steve mused. The idea that he could dumbfound Billy Hargrove sent him on a high that he couldn’t explain. It was powerful and intense and he felt  _ drunk on it. _

 

“Fuck you, princess,” Billy glared as Steve tilted his head up gently beneath his chin.

 

“Maybe later. I’m new to this, after all,” Steve watched Billy’s pupils dilate, the color surrounding them darkening, and he tried not to blush. To cover it up, he leaned in further, closing the space between them to lay a light kiss across Billy’s lips. His stomach coiled at Billy’s tiny gasp and he decided that no, he didn’t mind spending Thanksgiving in the hospital with Billy Hargrove.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to look up for the boys. :)
> 
> Unless Billy puts his foot in his mouth.
> 
> And he does.
> 
> Because he's fucking Billy.


	10. Hard Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay... so, I found out today that I'll be having surgery on my back next Wednesday. With that being said, I thought it was appropriate to start posting as much as I can so that you all won't mind the pause next week.
> 
> I'll need about two days to recover. They're going in and burning some nerves that are currently causing a LOT of pain (it's disabling-so I'm REALLY excited about this).
> 
> It also means I'll be drugged out of my mind for a few days, and that's just not fair to you all. So. Here's a chapter, about twelve hours early. I'll post as much as I can before the surgery. Please don't stop reading!

 

Hard Truths

 

            Billy had fallen asleep with his body on fire and his lips tingling. Who thought Steve had it in him? He was clearly not on his game if Steve had managed to make the first move. Billy blamed the drugs, but he knew that he hadn’t wanted to take Steve down the road he was on. He wasn’t a great person. In fact, he was probably the shittiest person for Steve to pair up with after someone like Nancy. He had that internal struggle going on between grabbing Steve’s pretty hair and messing it up while making him breathless and running the opposite direction. Steve had made the final choice for him, and Billy was terrified of messing up.

 

            Those were the thoughts swirling around Billy’s brain as he woke up on Friday. At some point, he had turned onto his back. The pressure on the burns made him want to throw up. Slowly, just to prevent himself from doing more damage, Billy turned onto his side and exhaled harshly. As soon as he turned, he froze. Steve was lying, in what looked like a fucking uncomfortable position, on the chair across from his bed, dozing. His head was lulled to the side, resting on his palm. His elbow was squeezed between the chair’s arm and the tiny table next to it.

 

            It made Billy wonder what he did to deserve this. What had happened in the universe to allow Billy fucking Hargrove the pleasure of seeing Steve there, relaxed, waiting for him to be released from the hospital? Billy didn’t fucking deserve it.

 

            “So, you’re awake,” Billy looked up, jarred from his thoughts. How had he not noticed the other person in the room? Fuck. Steve put him on a different plane.

 

            “Nancy,” Billy grinned and hoped it looked as cruel as he felt about her. He didn’t give a fuck about her, and he wasn’t about to act like he cared just because she was Steve’s last dig.

 

            “Do you have _any_ idea how worried I was about him? What the hell is your plan, Hargrove?” Nancy crossed her arms over her chest and glared. Billy eased himself back onto the bed and ignored the flare of pain from his back. There was no way he was going to put his back to this gal.

 

            “Plan?” Billy chuckled and lowered his lids. He licked his lips and grinned wider as she glowered at him. “Why? You afraid I’m going to corrupt your poor little Steve?”

 

            “You’re a piece of shit, so why he’s even hanging around you is beyond me,” Nancy snapped and walked, briskly, over to Steve. “Hey, Steve. Wake up.” She touched Steve’s shoulder and Billy wanted to lunge at her.

 

            “Pretty sure he doesn’t have to listen to you anymore. Aren’t you the one who left him for that pervert?” Billy rolled his eyes over to her and smirked at the way her cheeks flushed and her body tensed.

 

            She turned to him, slowly, and pointed a finger into his face, “I’ve gone up against things a lot worse than you, Hargrove. Don’t test me.”

 

            “Nance…?” Steve blinked a few times, blearily, and sat up in the chair. His body ached from the odd position, but he was more concerned about the tension in the air between Nancy and Billy.

 

            “Hey. You can stop babysitting, you know. The nurses have him,” Nancy offered a hand and frowned when Steve didn’t take it.

 

            “Uh, well, you see…” Steve cleared his throat and looked at Billy. When he realized the motherfucker was lying on his back, he got up faster than was strictly necessary and stormed over to the bed. “Billy fucking Hargrove, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

 

            Billy raised his eyebrows and then chuckled. “You really do sound like a babysitter,” he mused, even as Steve loomed over him with exasperation. “Really, though, _princess_.” He knew Nancy heard it. She tensed when she said it, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips.

 

            “You need one,” Steve sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Billy didn’t have the heart to tell him that, at this point, his hair was an absolute _mess_. It was _adorable_. “You need to turn over. Who knows what you’re doing to the burns.”

 

            “They’re fine,” Billy watched Steve’s brows furrow. When had Steve become so good at seeing beyond his lies? His hardened voice?

 

            “Yeah, fucking bullshit, Billy,” Steve looked back at Nancy and figured, hell, she was probably what was keeping Billy from actually doing what he was supposed to be doing. He couldn’t hate her for it; Billy was an asshole. Well, that’s what people believed. Billy was good at being an asshole.

 

            “Look, uhm, Nance,” Steve turned around and tried to clear his throat at the look Nancy was giving him. “I’m not actually—well, uh—babysitting. I chose to be here with him. I brought him here.”

 

            “Yeah, and they’re taking care of him, so you can _leave_ ,” Nancy looked back at Billy who, infuriatingly, continued to give her that shit-eating smirk. Steve had his back to him, so he didn’t see the way Billy looked at him, licked his lips like he was about to eat something delicious, and looked back at Nancy. She stared at him and then looked back at Steve.

 

            “Well, no,” Steve scratched the back of his head and sighed. “I’m staying here, Nancy.”

 

            “Steve,” Nancy looked over Steve’s face and frowned. “He’s not a child. He can take care of himself.”

 

            “I can, but he likes taking care of me,” Billy drawled and almost laughed at the look Nancy sent him. “What? Mad that he replaced you?”

 

            “What?” Nancy sputtered and Steve groaned. _Seriously, Billy?_ He took Nancy by her arm and tugged her out of the room. Nancy kept looking over at Billy, who had leaned back against the bed with one hand behind his head, grinning in that infuriating way that he does.

 

            “Steve—what is going on?” Nancy demanded as soon as they were in the hallway. Steve let out a breath and rubbed his face.

 

            “Look, it’s _complicated_ ,” Steve felt like he was complaining. He probably was.

 

            “No. Complicated is the Upside Down. Complicated is a Demogorgon. _Complicated_ is not me finding you with _Billy Hargrove_ ,” She looked at the door as if saying his name would make him magically appear.

 

            “He doesn’t have anyone, Nance,” Steve hissed and fuck if that didn’t make her shut up. “He has _no one_ and, frankly, I know how that feels.” The look he gave Nancy made her flinch, and he tried to feel bad. He truly did, but it was difficult because he _knew_ what it felt like to be alone. “Just… let me take care of this, and then we’ll see what happens after he’s released. Okay?”

 

            Nancy looked back at the door and hugged her waist. “But what if he hurts you, Steve?”

 

            Steve hesitated, “Well, he’s… uh, he’s already smashed my face in. And honestly, I don’t think he’ll do anything. Just let me take care of this.”

 

            After a few minutes of tense silence, Nancy sighed, and Steve knew he had her. She reached out and squeezed his arm.

 

            “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she told him before walking down the hallway of the hospital.

 

            “You’re not the only one,” Steve muttered before returning to Billy’s room.

 

            Billy was still lounging against the bed. He was still, but Steve was sure that it wasn’t because he wanted to be. With the burns against the bed, he was _sure_ Billy was in pain. As he walked up to the bed, Billy watched him, and even though he was in the fucking bed, Steve felt like he was prey to a really fucking gorgeous predator.

 

            “You’re an asshole,” Steve murmured as he stopped by Billy’s side. The blonde kept watching him. Steve caught the flicker of the muscle on his jaw and he sighed. “Come on, Billy. You need to get off your back.”

 

            “What happens after this?” The question was sudden and Steve blinked.

 

            “After this?” He asked, clearly not following Billy’s line of thought.

 

            “After I get out. After we both go home. What happens,” Billy looked up at Steve and tried, fruitlessly, to build the barriers he had beforehand. He didn’t really want the answer, but that’s why he needed the answer. Steve had no idea what he was getting himself into, and Billy had to throw the harsh reality into his face before it actually became true.

 

            “Billy…” Steve sank into the chair and rubbed his face. “Can we not talk about this? One thing at a time, right?”

 

            “No, _Steve_ ,” Billy sneered. He pushed himself up enough so that his wounds weren’t pushing against the bed, but he did it so he could turn his body to Steve. “What the fuck do you think is going to happen when I get out of here? We suddenly become buddies? We hang out? We just become _okay_ and you think people will _buy that_?”

 

            “You know, Billy, not everyone is a fucking asshole,” Steve snapped, “You could act like you fucking care for once. You could _not_ beat up on middle school kids. You could stop harassing me and stop acting like you have some fucking mountain to climb here to show you’re worth something!”

 

            “Because I do!” Billy snapped, “Everywhere I go, everything that I do—I have to _prove_ shit, Steve. It’s eat or be eaten and you’ve fucking forgotten that because you lost your damned title to that Byers kid!”

 

            “You wanna talk about being eaten?” Steve laughed and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Man, you have no fucking idea. You think your life is so hard. You think this is a shit town with shit people, and you just assume everything is great here.” He closed his eyes and swallowed; he was trying so desperately not to lose it, not to panic, but Billy had such a fucking way with words.

 

            “Because it _is_ a shit town. The worst you have to deal with is fucking up with your ex,” Billy snarled and Steve had enough.

 

            “Fuck you, Billy. Seriously,” Steve stood up from the chair. He knew he was playing into Billy’s hands. He _knew_ that, but Billy had _no fucking clue_ what he was talking about. None. “Your Camaro is at the quarry. Good luck getting to it.” He dug the keys out of his pocket, threw them on the bed, and stalked out of the room.

 

            “Wait—Steve,” Billy swung his legs to the side of the bed and stood. The dizziness hit him first and knocked him down. He sat back onto the bed and grit his teeth. Why? This happened every single _fucking time_. It was like Billy couldn’t fucking. He couldn’t. Tears bit at his eyes and he looked down at the tube that continued to grace him with those pain relievers. Fuck this. He used his teeth to tear the tape from his arm and the IV. The tube came next. Blood spurted from his vein, but he was quick to put pressure on it long enough so the bleeding wouldn’t be overwhelming. The heart monitor was the last thing that came off, and Billy ignored the blaring of the machine.

 

            After getting over a wave of nausea, Billy stood. It took him a moment to get his bearings, but after he did, he grabbed the sweatpants that were folded neatly to the side and yanked them on. When he didn’t feel the length of his necklace on his throat, he glanced around until he found the pile of jewelry. He grabbed his keys and the necklace and earring but didn’t bother putting them on. He had to catch that asshole before he managed to drive off.

 

            Billy didn’t bother with the hoodie. Having anything on his back would irritate him, so he left it there as he stalked out of the room. When he glanced around, he managed to find the glowing “EXIT” sign and followed that. He had to reach Steve. He had fucked up, and watching Steve walk out of the room had hurt in more ways than he was willing to admit. By the time he found the parking lot, his body felt sluggish and his skin felt wet with sweat. Fuck drugs, man. The moment they stopped running through his system, he was in trouble, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

            “Harrington!” Billy watched as the BMW backed up from its spot and walked forward. The pavement beneath his feet was cold and made him realize that not grabbing the hoodie was probably a stupid idea (making smart decisions wasn’t his strong point recently—maybe never). “Harrington—fucking, I swear. Wait!” He walked forward and then stopped when the BMW was put into drive and began to move forward.

 

            Steve glanced in his rearview mirror and slammed on the brakes. What the actual _fuck_ was Billy doing? He smacked his forehead against the wheel and groaned. Christ. Maybe Billy _did_ need a damned babysitter. He sat there, breathing in and out slowly as he contemplated what his next move would be. If he drove off, he knew they would be back to square one start Monday at school. If he stayed, was it any different? Billy wanted to fight him at every turn, and it was exhausting. Steve had to fight himself on a regular basis because of his experience with the Upside Down.

 

            _Shit_.

 

            Steve threw the BMW in park, cursed under his breath, and shoved the door open. He stepped out slowly, stood, and removed his sunglasses so he could glare at Billy.

 

            “You shouldn’t be out here,” Steve was trying not to care. His racing heart told him otherwise.

 

            “I’m not going back in,” Billy stared at Steve, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t shivering from the chill.

 

            “Fucking stubborn asshole,” Steve put the tip of his sunglasses between his lips and watched Billy. Both of his options were shit, and this was probably going to end up like shit, so why not enjoy the ride, right? “Get in.”

 

            Steve refused to believe that he saw relief in Billy’s expression. He also refused to believe that he was doing this because he wanted to; it was an obligation. Billy needed _help_. He sighed as he climbed back into the BMW. The passenger door opened and Billy slid in. It was a careful movement, and for a moment, Steve wished he had decked Billy’s dad.

 

            “Take me to my car,” Billy kept his gaze in front of the car. He didn’t want to see Steve’s expression. He didn’t want to know how badly he fucked up.

 

            “I wasn’t planning on anything else,” the response was sharp, and Billy knew he deserved it.

 

            The ride was quiet, and Steve tried desperately to ignore the hitches in Billy’s breath or the way his body twitched when they hit a particularly hard bump. He also tried to ignore the fact that Billy was shirtless and only dressed in his sweatpants. Steve’s sweatpants. That stupid possessiveness coiled into his gut again and he gripped the wheel harder. Nothing was going to come out of this. _Nothing_. Billy may be interested, in what, Steve had no fucking idea, but he had a feeling this meant nothing to him.

 

            When Steve pulled up next to the Camaro, Billy hesitated. He looked back at him, but Steve was still staring straight forward, obviously not interested in conversation. His jaw was set and his entire body was rigid. A wave of emotions hit him—anger, regret, _lust_ and one that he wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot fucking pole. He glanced over to the Camaro again. For some reason, Billy knew that if he got out and left Steve there, that would be the end of it. His chest ached and it had nothing to do with the beating his dad had given him.

 

            Fuck. _Fuck this._

 

            Steve was really, truly hoping that Billy wouldn’t say anything stupid. He was tired of arguing with him. Tired of dealing with not knowing which side of Billy he was going to get. Yet, as Billy got out of the car, he felt his stomach clench. This was so unbearably messed up. If only he knew what side of Billy he was treading on, things would be _so much easier_.

 

            “Wait, what the hell, Hargrove, you can’t shut the door?” Steve looked over and then froze. Billy was walking around the front of the car, his muscles bunched and his expression tight. He held his breath as they made eye contact and suddenly, Billy was yanking his door open and man-handling Steve out of the car. He was gearing up to be hit, to have his back slammed against the frame of his car, to have Billy in his face and spitting mad.

 

            It didn’t happen.

 

            Instead, Steve’s face was grabbed, non-too-gently, and his face was angled up. He had flinched and closed his eyes, ready for the explosion of pain, but when it didn’t come, he opened his eyes and stared at Billy. The teen looked torn. His eyes gleamed with heat and his cheeks were flushed, but his lips were pressed together in a thin line.

 

            “Billy…?” Steve leaned back against the frame of his door and swallowed. It was far too cold for Billy to be out here in just sweatpants, but Steve didn’t care because suddenly Billy’s lips were on his own and _oh fucking fuck_. He sucked in a sharp breath and Billy took the advantage, dipping his tongue passed his lips. Steve’s legs began to tremble and he hated how his body automatically responded to the way Billy took his mouth, as if he owned it, his fist tight in Steve’s jacket and on his jaw.

 

            Steve found purchase on Billy’s biceps. He held him tightly as they continued to kiss, exploring each other’s mouths between gasps and, to Steve’s dismay, breathy whimpers. By the time they actually parted, Billy had managed to slide a leg between Steve’s thighs and his hips were stuttering against him like some god damn sex-craved virgin. Billy didn’t seem to mind, though, his lips curling into a smirk as he looked over Steve’s wrecked expression.

 

            “Hey there, princess,” Billy ran his thumb over Steve’s lower lip, “Still with me?” The way Steve panted against him--glazed eyes and the flushed cheeks--drove Billy near the edge. He needed to breathe before he took this too far. When Steve gently clipped his teeth over Billy’s thumb, he hissed. _Fuuuuck_.

 

            “What’re you doin’?” Steve mumbled, all breathy and needy and Steve _hated it_. He hated how much he wanted Billy to kiss him again. He hated how hot Billy looked, disheveled and desperate. He hated his own body for how it thrummed and ached beneath Billy’s. He also hated Billy because this could _not be good_ for his injuries.

 

            “I’m… not so great with words,” Billy tilted his head to slide his lips over Steve’s cheek, his jaw, and then over his ear. He tugged gently at the lobe of Steve’s ear until he heard that desperate noise come out of his mouth again.

 

            “No…shit,” Steve tried to concentrate, but Billy latched onto the skin right below his ear and he was grinding himself against Billy’s thigh again. “Shit-shit, Billy, we can’t do this here…” He moved his hands to Billy’s chest, his intentions to push him away, but as his fingers moved over Billy’s collarbone and his sculpted chest, he groaned and simply dug his blunt fingernails into the skin. Damn Billy and his habit of not wearing shirts, _even if_ he had burns.

 

            “Steve,” Billy breathed against his ear and Steve felt like a goner. Billy was dangerous, _so fucking dangerous_.

 

            “Y-yeah…?” Steve hated how intoxicated he sounded, but he was impossibly hard against the seam of his jeans, and those were already tight as it was. Grinding against Billy didn’t help, but the friction was undeniably delicious, and Billy hadn’t moved away. In fact, while Billy kept one hand on Steve’s jaw, the other ventured down to the belt that Steve’s cock was straining against.

 

            “Can I touch you, princess?” Billy had never asked before. He was always a go-for-it type of person, but he also didn’t want Steve to freak out or run on him. This wouldn’t happen without permission, so Billy leaned back enough to let Steve gather his thoughts.

 

            “Uh—uhm, yeah,” Steve wanted to hit his head against the car. Yeah, that was real sexy, Harrington. He looked up at Billy and suddenly didn’t worry about it so much. Billy’s pupils were blown wide and he was looking at him with such intent that Steve felt like squirming. Instead, he reached up with one hand to tangle his fingers into Billy’s hair. He tugged him down gently, mindful of his concussion, and sealed his lips over Billy’s again.

 

            The kiss was slower this time. Methodical. Billy slid their lips together and tasted Steve with a gentleness that made Steve want to writhe. This. _This_ was the side of Billy that he had seen glimpses of. He gasped against Billy’s mouth as his belt was unbuckled and his jeans unclasped. As Billy’s fingers curled around cock, beneath his briefs, Steve’s back arched and his hips pushed forward. He wasn’t even kissing Billy so much now as he was simply breathing him in, sucking in breath after breath as Billy twisted and pulled his fingers over him.

 

            “Oh, god, babe,” Steve bucked his hips forward, and he felt really fucking easy. He could already feel the tight coil in his gut, the burning in his legs, the overpowering urge to keep pushing his hips forward so that he could chase his orgasm. He noticed the way Billy sucked in a sharp breath and was concerned for a moment about his pain.

 

            “Call me that again,” Billy tightened his grip on Steve’s jaw, and fuck if Steve didn’t like it. He moaned and pushed his dick through Billy’s hand again.

 

            “Babe…” Steve gasped, startled as Billy stepped back and buckled his knees. He missed the warmth of Billy’s hand, but as he looked down at Billy, completely thrown off by how _submissive_ this position was, Steve couldn’t help the thrum in his body. “Oh, fuck, Billy… Are you seriously—“

 

            _And Billy did_.

 

            Billy had the base of his cock in his hand and his other hand held his hip, keeping him still as his hot mouth slid over the head of Steve’s cock. Those pink lips stretched over him, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy with lust. Billy looked up at him through his lashes and _fuck_ _him_. Steve tangled his fingers into Billy’s hair, but he didn’t tug or grip. He simply held the curls, watching in disbelief as Billy Hargrove took him almost all the way down.

 

            “Oh, fuck, babe—I—I can’t. I’m gonna come,” Steve tried to pull back, but Billy dug his fingers into his hip and kept him absolutely still. The idea that Billy was going to let him _come in his mouth_ is what sent Steve over the edge. He moaned, his voice strangled as he pushed his hips forward. He watched, blissed out, as Billy swallowed, his throat convulsing. Billy didn’t break eye contact with him, swallowing everything he had to give before slowly pulling back.

 

            Steve tucked himself away and then let his own knees buckle. He took Billy’s face into his palms and pulled him into a kiss. He couldn’t give a flying fuck that he could taste himself on Billy. All he could think about was how Billy was panting, how his lips were wet with spit and cum, and how he seemed completely unable to speak. When he reached for the hem of Billy’s sweatpants, Billy grabbed his wrist and huffed out a soft chuckle.

 

            “I don’t think so. I’m light headed enough as it is,” Billy pressed his forehead to Steve’s and shivered. “Actually, y’think I can go to your place? Not sure I trust myself with the Camaro…”

 

            “Are you okay?” Steve examined Billy’s face, his chest, along his stomach. The sweatpants did nothing to hide Billy’s girth, and fuck, he was hard, but Steve tried to focus. “I mean, yeah. Yeah, I can drive us there.”

 

            “Thanks, princess,” Billy mused and Steve ached. This was the Billy he wanted to know, that he was desperate for, but it took so much to pry away the walls and spite that was Billy’s façade. When Billy touched his lower lip, Steve blinked out of his thoughts and looked at him properly. “Fuck, you’re beautiful, Steve. Fucking sin.” He grumbled and Steve laughed.

 

            “You make it sound so bad,” Steve stood up slowly and offered a hand. When Billy took it, his heart leapt. He helped him up and immediately shrugged out of his jacket. “You’re not great at last second decisions, are you?” He slipped the jacket over Billy’s shoulders and smiled.

 

            “Not so much,” Billy shivered as the warmth of Steve’s jacket fell over him and smirked. “I’ve apparently got you for that now.”

 

            “Yeah… yeah, you do.” Steve climbed back into the BMW and watched as Billy did the same, just as careful as he did the first time.

 

            “Agreeing with me isn’t a great idea, you know,” Billy settled into the car and Steve put the heat on blast.

 

            “No, but you do something to me, Billy, and I can’t fucking help it. One second we’re arguing and the next…”

 

            “Mm. Can’t help it, being your king and all…” Billy grinned and Steve rolled his eyes.

 

            “I _knew_ that was a bad idea.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't tell you all how much it means to me when you leave kudos or comments. I love talking to you, so dropping a comment is even better. I'll always respond and I'll always feel all warm and fuzzy from them.
> 
> So, please, talk to me! :)


	11. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, here's another chapter for all of you lovely people.
> 
> I cannot express how much gratitude I have for those who kudo, comment, and simply read. Just reading is enough. Commenting just makes me turn red (I stutter at compliments).
> 
> Thanks, everyone. :)

The Storm

 

            Billy laughed as they rolled out of the quarry and toward Steve’s house. The lightness of it made Steve look over, and for a moment, he saw the Billy he was sure that the blonde would be if he didn’t have to fight so hard just to survive. He looked back to the road and bit his lower lip. He was a glutton for pain, he was sure, because he wanted to talk to Billy about what they had argued about in the hospital.

 

            “Billy…?” Steve glanced over and then looked at the road. He hadn’t missed the inquisitive look from the blonde and he felt heat rush into his cheeks. “About your question from before…”

 

            “Yeah-uh-forget it,” Billy looked out the window and grimaced. Self-doubt had always chewed at him, _always_ , but Steve’s soft voice was like a gentle caress and he automatically shied away from it. Hot and heavy was one thing. He was still throbbing in Steve’s sweatpants, so the last thing he wanted to talk about was his fear of being left behind (which is what it boiled down to).

 

            “No, we can’t just forget it,” Steve sighed and shifted in his seat. As he drove down the road, he kept wanting to steal glances of Billy. He also didn’t want to wreck. Instead, he reached over and slid the back of his fingers over Billy’s hip and thigh. He could feel the muscle tense beneath him.

 

            “What do you want, Steve?” Billy bit out, and he hated that he sounded scared. He had let Steve in, sure, and now that the drugs were finally circulating out of his system, he was feeling that overwhelming urge to viciously kick Steve out.

 

            “Can you just drop the fucking attitude, Billy?” Steve yanked the BMW over into the dirt on the side of the road and slammed it into park. He turned to look at Billy and tried to ignore how he could see past the nonchalance of Billy lounging half against the seat and half against the door. “I had to drive you, unconscious, to the fucking hospital. I had to watch them _cut through my hoodie_ to get to your back. I had—I watched—your fucking dad called me a faggot and—“

 

            “What?” Billy’s voice had dropped an octave and he was unbearably calm and it _terrified_ Steve. “What did he call you, Steve?” Steve watched as Billy’s fingers twitched, as if he was itching to fight, and he saw that fire behind his blue eyes and knew, _knew_ Billy wanted to hit something.

 

            “I—he—“

 

            “ _Say it_ , Steve.”

 

            “He called me a faggot,” Steve breathed and clenched his jaw; tears filled his eyes. “Fucking happy?”

 

            “Is that all he did?” Billy watched him, scrutinizing him, and Steve felt like shrinking into his seat. “Answer me, Steve.”

 

            “He spat at me,” Steve muttered it so quietly that he barely heard it, and suddenly, Billy was across the seat and in his space. For being injured, Billy moved exceptionally well, and it made Steve sick to his stomach because he figured Billy was _used to hurting_.

 

            “ _He what_?” Billy was seething and Steve could _feel_ him trembling.

 

            “He spat at me, Billy. But fuck, so what? He’s in a fucking jail cell. There’s nothing we can do,” Steve swallowed and wished he could calm the raging storm in Billy’s eyes, in his body, in his fucking soul. He reached up tentatively and cupped Billy’s face into his hands. They were close enough that their breaths mingled and Steve felt like he was drowning. Billy’s storm was going to _drown him_. “Babe, there’s nothing we can do.” He ran his thumb over Billy’s right cheek, the one less bruised, and watched as a multitude of emotions flickered over Billy’s face. “Please…” Steve was begging and he didn’t care. He was desperate for Billy to calm down, to breathe, to come back to him from wherever he went during his fits of rage.

 

            “He didn’t touch you?” Billy looked over Steve’s face, as if examining him for any new marks or signs of damage.

 

            “No, god no. Why the fuck would he do that?” When Billy’s eyes shuttered, and he seemed to pull back emotionally, Steve pressed their foreheads together and nipped Billy’s lower lip. Billy’s eyes were on him again and Steve made a mental note that little bits of pain kept Billy grounded, because of course it did. “Why? Billy, tell me why.”

 

            And suddenly it hit Steve. The fear of his father, the hatred of the word faggot, the way he freaked out when Steve showed up in the hospital and he had no idea where his father was. How his body trembled every time Steve tried to breach the topic of _them_. The bite of Billy’s words earlier at the hospital about what they were going to do after he was released. Everything slid into place and Steve couldn’t help the explosion of pain in his chest.

 

            _Fuck. Billy’s. Dad._

 

            “Babe, whatever your dad did in the past. Whoever he hurt,” and he knew he stung a nerve because Billy sucked in a sharp breath and twitched, “it won’t happen here. He _can’t win_ here. He will never win.”

 

            Billy’s fucking world exploded and he fell. He fell so hard into Steve’s big, ridiculously brown eyes that he almost stopped breathing. His dad had scared everyone off. Fuck, they moved because of the openness back in Cali. His dad, that fucking asshole, had hoped that this little Podunk town wouldn’t have anything to offer Billy, and here he was, almost straddling the hottest guy in Hawkins, Indiana. Their lips were so close that if Billy tilted his head, they would be kissing, and his dad was rotting in a cell somewhere.

 

            “You’re fucking shit at fighting,” Billy muttered, but Steve could hear how raw he was. “He will get out, Steve. Then what? What will he do to you?”

 

            “Nothing. I have my bat,” Steve shrugged and Billy snorted.

 

            “Fuckin’ thing almost castrated me,” Billy muttered and Steve smirked. The nerds had told him about that, and he had applauded them (quietly, because violence is wrong, right?).

 

            “You were being a shit,” Steve raised an eyebrow and Billy huffed. He wondered how they could do this—slide from such intense conversations to light play. “And whatever you have against Max and the kids—“

 

            “No. We’re not talking about them,” Billy finally eased up and settled against his own seat.

 

            “See this? This is what’s wrong. If you want to talk about something, I have to do it. The minute I bring up something, you close off and refuse to talk. That’s not fair, Billy,” Steve scrubbed his face and pulled the car into drive. He had to trust that their conversation wasn’t going to get heated enough for him to want to throw the car in the ditch.

 

            When Billy didn’t respond, Steve gripped the wheel tighter and licked his lips. He had to find a way to break through again. The drugs had obviously worn off, and with them, Billy’s willingness to talk. Steve was _so_ not okay with that. He had seen another side of Billy that he was sure was covered by maliciousness and spite now.

 

            “Babe?” Steve glanced over again and saw the flash in Billy’s eyes. Billy liked the pet name, even if he wouldn’t admit it. “Talk to me, please. I know… I get it. I understand you’re not used to it, but could you _please_ just… not close me out?” He sounded so meek, so _vulnerable_ , and he hoped Billy didn’t take advantage of it.

 

            “Maxine is his golden child,” Billy looked out the window and tapped his fingers against his thighs. The burning on his back was more of a roar now without the painkillers, but it at least felt familiar to him. He tapped his foot against the foot well and felt his thoughts racing. His own demons were clawing at him, desperate to keep him from revealing himself to the other teenager. “His star, basically. I was just his faggot, queer son. A mistake. She comes in and it just… got worse.”

 

            Steve drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel and continued to stay silent. He wasn’t going to interrupt. He wasn’t going to jump in and ask questions. He figured that Billy would tell him what he would want to tell him, and that would be the end of it. Poking and prodding a beast wasn’t the greatest idea.

 

            “So, here’s Susan with her fucking golden child, and me,” Billy made a sharp gesture at himself and snorted. Where were his cigarettes? He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. “I was either non-existent or a problem. Mostly a problem. We move here because there aren’t any fags in the country-“ Steve snorted and Billy continued without pausing “-and I had to leave everything because of who… who I am.”

 

            “Who you are?” Steve glanced over, but then returned his eyes to the road. They were less than five minutes from his house now. He hoped that didn’t meant the conversation would stop.

 

            “A faggot,” Billy felt a hallow pit in his stomach. He clenched his fists and pushed his back against the seat to _feel the pain_. It was white-hot, blinding, and he hissed, keeping the pressure there.

 

            “Wha—Billy,” Steve looked over again and he swore he was going to wreck his damn car.

 

            “I just sucked your dick, princess. What else am I?” Billy’s voice was strained.

 

            “You’re Billy,” Steve gripped the wheel so hard his hands hurt. “You’re _Billy_ , an asshole from California who somehow managed to get under my skin the second he got here. An asshole who helped me through a nightmare and helped me sleep. An asshole who made me feel again after so long of just…not.” Steve looked over to Billy and then away. He hated how Billy’s eyes were boring into him, intent and aggressive. He could feel his heart beat in his hands, in his ears, _underneath his skin_. “You’re… Fuck, Billy. You wanted the king title. You have it. But it’s not just at the school.”

 

            Billy sat, hands clenched, head swimming (and not entirely from the pain). He kept his eyes on Steve despite the urge to look away, to hide, to sneer and laugh like he always did. Steve was terrifying him, and he hadn’t felt this terrified in a long time. It was raw, tearing him open and leaving him bare. He wanted to rip into Steve, to taunt him, to leave the car and not look back. Yet, as Steve looked at him, hesitant and apprehensive, he couldn’t bring himself to move. Steve, _King Steve_ , was looking at him in a way that no one had in a long time, and Billy hadn’t realized how much he had missed it-longed for it-starved for it.

 

            Despite sitting in the driveway, neither teen moved. They sat in silence, Steve staring at his lap and Billy staring at him. It wasn’t even an uncomfortable silence. It just… was, and Billy wondered what the fuck he did to deserve Steve.

 

            “You’re my king, Billy,” Steve finally murmured. It was so quiet that Billy had to strain to hear it. His heart hammered against his chest, and Billy knew that he would _never_ get over the way Steve called him king. In the school, it was different. It was power. Here, it felt more… personal, and he didn’t want to fucking think about what that meant.

 

            “Say it again,” Billy wished it sounded like a demand. It didn’t.

 

            “You’re my king,” Steve finally looked up and he had to swallow. The way Billy looked at him made him feel like prey, just as he had in the hospital room. He wasn’t sure whether he should run or hide, and wasn’t that just the kicker of their relationship? Whatever relationship that was. He dropped his arms from the wheel as Billy slid over the seat. He didn’t put up a fight as his jaw was taken again and his face was tilted. He didn’t complain at the small bite of pain by just how hard the grip was. Instead, he moaned as Billy took his mouth. The teen was insistent, slipping his tongue passed his lips and exploring every crevice Steve offered him.

 

            By the time they parted, Steve was panting. Billy looked so fucking collected and Steve hated him for it. He licked his lips and cleared his throat.

 

            “Maybe we should go inside?” Steve offered weakly. At least Billy didn’t refuse. He watched as Billy climbed out of the car, and he followed, slipping the door shut behind him. The way Billy hung back was noticeable, as if he was fighting himself as to what to do next. As Steve unlocked the front door, he hoped that Billy decided to follow him. He pushed the door open and looked back at Billy, who stood, in late November, shirtless and injured and still so damned attractive.

 

            “Are you sure about this?” Billy’s question threw Steve off. Something he knew about Billy: the guy got what he wanted. He would fight, viciously and unapologetically, until he got it. If Billy wanted Steve, he just assumed that Billy would take him, and _that_ made him dizzy just thinking about it.

 

            “I’m not sure about anything anymore,” Steve admitted and ran his fingers through his hair. That wasn’t cryptic at all. Shit. “I mean, well, I lost my title, lost the girl, and now I’m some type of babysitter for a group of nerds. This, whatever _this_ is… Isn’t so bad. Why? You’re not hesitating, are you?”

 

            “No,” Billy scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. He was cold, he would admit that, but crossing the threshold of Steve’s house was like admitting he was okay with _them_ , and he wasn’t so sure of that.

 

            Steve watched Billy and tried desperately to think of a way to get Billy inside of his house. From experience, he knew Billy was a physical person. He may not be good at words, but he was really fucking good with his body. Was it a good idea, though, goading someone like Billy with his body?

 

            Fuck it.

 

            Steve stepped into his house and turned to Billy. He could feel Billy’s eyes on him and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t jack up his heart rate. When he was sure Billy was watching him, he took the hem of his shirt and tugged it, slowly, up and over his head. When he dropped the shirt to the side, a chill made his skin crawl. He still kept his eyes on Billy though, who had shifted his position and cursed under his breath.

 

            “I swear, Harrington—“

 

            “I thought it was princess? Or Steve at this point?” Steve hooked his fingers over the buckle of his belt and licked his lips. He watched, breath stuttering, as Billy began to walk forward. “Or are you not going to claim your position as my king? Is that it? Just gonna chicken out—“

 

            And Steve wasn’t standing at the threshold anymore. Billy had crowded his space, pushing him in and shoving the door closed.

 

            Steve had essentially invited the storm into his home, and he couldn’t say he regretted it.

 

 

 


	12. Another Black Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Okay. My computer updated and it took an hour. So. Here's chapter 12. Shit's about to go down again, guys. Also, MUCH LOVE to everyone who reads, kudos, comments, etc. It means the world to me.
> 
> Special shout out to SSTrashBarge for helping me come up with the name for this chapter. She unstuck me.

Another Black Hole

 

 

 

 

            As soon as Steve stumbled back, he grabbed onto Billy’s arms and yanked him forward. Billy almost stumbled, as well, and Steve was tempted to taunt him about planting his feet.

 

            Instead, Steve reached up and curled his fingers around Billy’s neck. He pulled him down and let their breaths mingle—not kissing, but certainly not shying away from Billy (even with the fire in his eyes and his body tense).

           

            “Jesus fucking Christ, Steve. I’m _trying_ to be level-headed,” Billy hissed and his hands found Steve’s sides, his stomach, his back, sliding over every inch of exposed skin and Steve wondered if he was the one on fire.

 

            “Don’t, _please don’t_ ,” Steve breathed and fumbled backward again as Billy pushed him (and he let him). The foyer was small, but it led into the large kitchen, and before Steve knew what was happening, he was pinned against the kitchen island by Billy’s body.

 

            “Don’t what? Be level-headed? Isn’t that what you want me to be?” Billy caged Steve’s body in by planting his hands on the counter. “All nice and fucking caring?” His words were laced with venom again, and Steve flinched. He had at least gotten Billy into the house, even if the guy was itching for a fight again. Jesus. It felt like there wasn’t an off switch with Billy.

 

            “I want you to be _you_ ,” Steve insisted and cupped Billy’s face in his palms. He ran his thumb over Billy’s lower lip and wished he could tear out that part of him that makes this so scary (both of them, actually).

 

            “This is me,” Billy scowled and then frowned as Steve reached up to smooth his fingers over the crease lines in his forehead. It surprised him, being touched like that, and he pulled back enough to get away from Steve’s fingers, but not his body.

 

            “Maybe,” Steve agreed, finally, and dropped his arms. “But maybe this is just one part of you. I mean, I’ve seen other parts of you. You can’t tell me this is all that there is, Billy, because that’s bullshit, and you know it.”

 

            “You’re persistent,” Billy glanced over Steve’s face, and then dropped his gaze to his neck, his chest, the lines of his stomach and the delicious peaks of his hips that narrowed down to his jeans. His own body began to react again, and it was a nice distraction from the throbbing of his back.

 

            “I like getting my way,” Steve replied easily and grinned at the smug expression that settled on Billy’s face.

 

            “That it? You’re just trying to lure me in? Are you trying to _take advantage_ of me, Steve?” Billy licked his lips and Steve almost laughed. Almost. He knew what that tongue could do, and the reminder had his jeans becoming uncomfortably tight again.

 

            “Of an injured person? Never. Nah. Not my style,” Steve’s grin widened as Billy cocked an eyebrow at him. “True! I wouldn’t! God, you’re awful.”

 

            “I didn’t just lure a dangerous person into the house by stripping, princess,” Billy slid his hands down to Steve’s stomach and spread his fingers, stroking his thumbs over the smooth skin just above Steve’s belt buckle.

 

            “Okay, well, you got me on that, but—“ Steve’s sentence turned into absolutely nothing as Billy leaned down and sank his teeth into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He yelped, instead, and grabbed Billy’s hair. He wanted to yank, but he knew better (because fucking hell, Billy!). Instead, he stayed still as Billy began to suck hard at the skin. For some insane reason, Steve thought Billy was _marking_ him, and if he was, fuck, Steve was okay with it. And really, it wasn’t so insane, because this was Billy and claiming didn’t seem out of Billy’s realm.

 

            There was a slick pop as Billy leaned back and smirked. He looked fucking satisfied at his handiwork and Steve almost smacked him, even if the bite sent thrills all the way through his body.

 

            “The hell was that?” Steve glared and Billy laughed, the noise surprisingly light.

 

            “Revenge, princess.” Billy stepped back, “Don’t promise something you can’t deliver.”

 

            “What—what!? Can’t deliver? The hell are you talking about?” Steve had his hands on his hips again and Billy couldn’t lie—it reminded him about the night he had rolled up on the Byers’ house. Guilt punched his gut and he cleared his throat, as if that could help him run from that emotion.

 

            But it also made his stomach warm because Steve looked absolutely ridiculous and adorable, and Jesus, what was _wrong_ with him?

 

            “I’m in no shape to fuck you,” Billy smirked at how Steve’s face lit pink. He could do some things, sure, but there was no way he was going to be able to make Steve an absolute mess, begging and gasping and arching beneath him, with these injuries. That would have to wait, and Steve being shirtless was _cruel_ , in his opinion. Their banter at least pulled him away from their awkward conversation earlier. Billy felt a little less exposed now, and parts of his snarky personality were beginning to shine again (or not shine, whatever).

 

            “And when you are?” Steve watched the surprise flicker across Billy’s face, as if he didn’t think that Steve was actually looking forward to it. “What’re you going to do, Billy?”

 

            The question made Billy’s head spin. Oh, he could do a lot of things, and he _planned_ on a lot of things, which meant this obviously wasn’t going to be a hit and run, like his normal conquests. No, Steve wasn’t just some random fuck, and Billy was trying to come to terms with that. Instead of answering, Billy took a few steps back, wrenched one of the kitchen table chairs around and sat down. He crooked a finger at Steve and couldn’t help the smirk as Steve came forward. For a split second, Billy could see this happening forever—him goading Steve to come closer, to move, to bend to his will.

 

            “On your knees, pretty boy,” Billy spread his legs and held his breath as Steve did exactly as he was told. Once Steve settled in front of him, Billy just _looked_. He looked over Steve’s hair, which was a fucking mess. He looked over Steve’s face and his expression, cautious and expectant. Hell, Steve was trembling, his body tight like a bowstring, and Billy loved that _he_ did that to Steve. No one else. When his eyes finally fell on the angry mark he just made, he licked his lips. If this was going to turn into _anything_ , people would know that Steve belonged to someone, even if they couldn’t know who. They would see his bite marks, his fingerprints, his scratches. Steve would be _owned_.

 

            Billy reached down and took Steve’s chin in his fingers. He stroked Steve’s lower lip with his thumb gently and fuck if Steve’s mouth wasn’t softer than a woman’s. When Steve parted his lips, Billy smirked and slid the pad of his thumb over his front teeth, then over his tongue, and he couldn’t believe that Steve was responding to just this. He could hear his breath hitch, but he could also feel how shaky it was on his hand. He slid his thumb over Steve’s tongue for a moment, pressing down and simply playing, before pulling back. He wiped Steve’s spit over his cheek and chuckled at the look of indignation that flashed over his face.

 

            “If you want me here,” Billy ran his fingers up into Steve’s hair and pulled, forcing Steve to topple forward into his lap, “we’re doing things my way. We have an understanding, Steve?”

 

            Steve swallowed nervously. He was basically lying on Billy’s lap. He could feel the hardness of Billy’s cock against his chest, and his cheek kept grazing the gauze that had been wrapped around Billy’s midsection and stomach. Billy’s hand was still tangled in his hair, pulling just enough to burn, but he couldn’t say that he hated it. He tilted his head up and to the side, instead, giving himself some slack. He pressed his lips over Billy’s wrist and when he could feel the slow thump of Billy’s heart rate, he slid his tongue over the skin. It picked up, rapidly, and he smirked to himself as he nipped the skin. He heard Billy’s sharp intake of breath and his body thrummed.

 

            After biting Billy’s wrist again, Steve noticed that the grip on his hair had loosened. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the gauze that covered Billy’s stomach. Anger made him want to tear apart Billy’s dad. He should be able to touch Billy’s skin, to kiss him, to taste him, but that fucker had burned him and now Steve couldn’t touch him properly.

 

            “Hey, princess,” Billy’s rumbling voice made Steve look up through his lashes. He shivered at the way Billy was looking at him—all low-lidded, lips-parted, messy-haired asshole. “You’re going somewhere else on me.”

 

            “Yeah, sorry,” Steve smiled sheepishly.

 

            “Kinda worries me. Something can drag your mind from this,” Billy gestured at himself and Steve snorted, “makes me think you aren’t right in the head.”

 

            “I’m not,” Steve said it before he could stop himself and he quickly clicked his mouth shut. Not wanting Billy to pry or to ask too much (and how fucking hypocritical was that?), Steve scooted back just enough to press sloppy, hot kisses down the clothed length of Billy’s cock. He felt fingers slide through his hair, felt the tightness and the burn as he continued to mouth over him.

 

            Billy wanted to retort, wanted to say something mean or cruel, but as he watched Steve explore, he could barely breathe. Some part of him thought that this was probably the first time Steve had been around anything but soft waists and cute breasts, so he wasn’t about to interrupt that (even if he really wanted to). Instead, he lounged back against the chair, careful of his back (even if he was used to the pain by now), and continued to tug and play with Steve’s ridiculous hair.

 

            There was a softness in him for Steve. He could feel it settling deep, reaching into the depths of his darkness and spindling, glimmering, and part of him wanted to run. Well, a huge fucking part of him wanted to run. But the sadistic, more self-deprecating part of him wanted to know how this was going to fall through. How Steve was going to treat him on Monday—or was it how he was going to treat Steve on Monday—at school? How would Steve explain the mark on his neck?

 

            Billy was drawn back to the present when Steve tugged the sweatpants down far enough to free his cock. He smirked at the look Steve had on his face and reached down to grab his jaw. His other hand took hold of the base of his cock.

 

            “You ever done this?” Billy mused, “’Cause suckin’ dick is an art.”

 

            Steve rolled his eyes. Of course, Billy would say that.

 

            “Unfortunately for you, no, I haven’t,” Steve tilted his head and sank his teeth into Billy’s palm. He relished the groan it caused and pulled back. “But I can start now. You know, if you’d like.” He looked up at Billy and grinned.

 

            “Fuckin’ tease,” Billy groused. Who knew Steve was a biter? He took Steve’s jaw, more carefully this time, and pulled him forward so that the tip of his erection pushed against those soft lips. Steve opened his mouth and Billy could have come then, just by watching him. Inexperience usually aggravated Billy, but the way Steve experimentally licked the head of his cock had him hissing. Maybe he found a sick satisfaction knowing that he was going to be the one to break that for Steve.

 

             As much as Billy wanted to fantasize about it, thoughts left him as the hot warmth of Steve’s mouth enveloped almost half of his cock. He tried, desperately, not to rock further into his mouth, but the way Steve was so earnestly sucking at him broke any sort of control he had. Billy dug his fingers into Steve’s hair, held him still and slowly pushed further into his throat. He held his breath as he watched, gauging when it was too far by the way Steve gagged. Only then, did he ease up and pull back. He did this several times, until finally, he forced Steve’s head up a bit and at an angle so he could see the tears gathering in his eyes.

 

            “Damn, princess,” Billy licked his lips. He liked seeing Steve’s lips wet and swollen from being around him. He liked the flush on his cheeks and the way he kept looking down at his dick, as if he was dying to get back to what he was doing. And wasn’t that fantastic— _King Steve sucking his dick_. He chuckled at that and then hissed as Steve bit his thigh. The sudden pain made his cock twitch and Steve grinned, as if he had just found some sort of damned present.

 

            “Watch yourself,” Billy warned, but the threat wasn’t even actually there. Steve kissed the bite mark and looked up at Billy through his lashes, and fuck if Billy hadn’t seen anything prettier than that. He stroked his fingers along Steve’s scalp before tightening them to pull Steve forward. The teen moved easily under his hand, taking his cock back into his mouth. He slid his lips down far enough to not gag himself and hallowed out his cheeks. He sucked and Billy finally dropped his head back and closed his eyes. He let Steve move this time, holding onto his hair tight enough to direct him, but not control him.

 

             Billy had to admit that Steve was good at distracting him from his back. The burns were just a dull throb now compared to the pleasure racing from his gut and into his limbs. He welcomed the distraction, sometimes urging Steve to move faster or slower, but never quite letting him up all the way. Steve, by the time Billy’s stomach was clenching and his hips were twitching upwards, was panting through his nose.

 

             Despite Steve’s obvious lack of experience, Billy was nearing the edge quicker than he was used to—and fuck if that didn’t irritate him. He grabbed hold of Steve’s throat, just below his jaw, and began to push and pull his hips. The wet, sloppy noises coming from Steve’s mouth only egged him on, and he moaned raggedly. He could feel how Steve’s jaw moved and the way his throat constricted against his hand with every movement, and suddenly, his whole body crashed. Pleasure shot out from his stomach, curled into his veins, ripped apart his nerves and stole his breath. He held Steve still as he came down his throat, felt the bobbing against his hand as Steve tried to swallow, and moaned even louder.

 

            When Billy finally released his grip, Steve pulled back and tried not to cough. His throat burned, he had a couple of tears escaping his eyes, and his jaw ached. He was about to chastise Billy for it (and now he knew why girls hated it), but when he looked up and saw the blonde, he stopped. Billy was spread out on the chair, exhausted and relaxed. His chest was rising and falling sharply as he gained his breath, his lids low and his eyes trained on Steve. It made Steve feel… powerful, to have done that to Billy, and suddenly he didn’t mind that his jaw hurt or that Billy had literally fucked his mouth until he came.

 

            There was something in Billy’s eyes that Steve couldn’t place, but he liked it. The only thing missing from the blonde was the glitter of his necklace and earring, and Steve realized that the two items must be on the seat or foot well of his BMW. He slid his hands down to Billy’s knees and pushed himself onto his feet from there. Billy still watched him, and despite the fact that he had just spilled inside of Steve’s throat, he seemed alert and focused on him. It was as if drugs were the only thing that could slow Billy down.

 

            Instead of moving away, Steve anchored himself between Billy’s legs and bent down. It was as if Billy knew exactly what he wanted; his head angled up so Steve’s lips could meet his. The kiss was slow and gentle, their mouths moving together until Steve swiped his tongue over Billy’s lips. He was surprised when Billy opened for him, half-expecting to get punched for even trying, and slipped his tongue into the other teen’s mouth. He explored just as Billy had, enjoying the taste that was uniquely him.

 

           Steve nearly jumped out of his skin when the doorbell sounded. He pulled back from Billy, saw a flash of anger on the boy’s face, and stroked his cheek.

 

           “Maybe they’ll leave?” Steve murmured and smiled at the grin Billy gave him. Except, the doorbell rang again, and then it was followed by hard raps at the door.

 

           “Fuck,” Billy situated himself, tucking the sweatpants back around his waist. “Answer the door, princess. It’s not like we were doing anything.”

 

           Steve reluctantly slid away from Billy and realized the guy was like a furnace, exuding heat in all the right ways. He grabbed his shirt (because how awkward would that be?), tugged it on, and opened the door.

 

           “You kids have no damned sense at all,” Hopper leaned against the doorway and frowned. “I get Hargrove to the station and come back for a statement, and bam, gone. The hell do you all think you’re doing? Seriously?”

 

            Steve had the decency to look ashamed, fidgeting with his thumbs while glancing toward the kitchen. “Yeah, uh, sorry about that. Unexpected, actually.” He was mumbling and he wondered if this is how the kids felt when he was chastising them. Probably.

 

            “I need to talk to Billy. Get his statement. You know, to keep his dad in jail,” Hopper raised an eyebrow, daring Steve to object. When the teenager moved to the side, he stepped in and wasn’t at all surprised to see Billy lounging in a kitchen chair.

 

            “Officer,” Billy grinned and Hopper snorted.

 

            “Damn, kid. Up and running already? Kudos to you, I guess. Let’s get this statement done so I can deal with your dad.”

 

             And just like that, Steve watched Billy’s barriers slam closed, his expression hardening and his body becoming taut.

 

             And, damn it to hell, Steve knew that this was not going to be fun to get through.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slinks off*


	13. Crash & Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter tore me apart, but it's pivotal for their relationship and Billy HAS TO KNOW.
> 
> Again, I'm trying to post quickly before my surgery on Wednesday. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy (and please don't kill me).
> 
> Please remember: Billy, at this point, has no idea what happened to his mother. The last time he remembers seeing her was when he was seven.

Crash & Burn

 

 

 

 

            As Hopper walked to the kitchen table, Steve dragged his feet over to the fridge. His hands started to sweat as he rummaged to find some cokes for them. He was avoiding looking at Billy because it _hurt_ to look at him. Behind the thin lips and the clenched jaw, he saw a much more vulnerable Billy—the one who was in the hospital, trembling in the bed because his dad had just been in the room. The one who told Steve to leave because he had been terrified of what his dad was capable of. The one whose eyes resembled storms while his body lit fires that would burn for an eternity. _That_ was the Billy he saw, and he knew that wasn’t what Billy wanted him to see.

 

            Once Steve pulled three cokes out, he convinced himself to turn around. At this point, he wasn’t even sure if he was invited to hear this conversation, even if this _was_ his house. He knew he should give Billy privacy, but he didn’t _want_ to give him privacy. He wanted to know just as much as Hopper needed to know. He wanted to hurt for Billy because, as far as he could see, _no one else had_. And that was fucked up. His own experiences were shit, sure, but he had Nance, Jonathan, the kids… he had people who understood and at least tried to see eye-to-eye with him about it.

 

            It felt as if Billy kept his demons to himself, and Steve was watching them eat him alive.

 

            “Coke?” Steve’s voice sounded strangled, and Billy’s gaze snapped to him. He swallowed as Billy evaluated him and knew that the cogs in the blonde’s brain were moving.

 

            “Sure, kid,” Hopper nodded and thank _fuck_ for that because Billy’s stare could keep Steve frozen. Steve moved around the kitchen island that he and Billy had just become acquainted with and set the two cokes onto the table. Hopper immediately opened it, but Billy stayed kicked back in his chair, watching Steve.

 

            “Should I… uhm, should I fuck off for a bit?” Steve glanced between Billy and Hopper. He saw how Billy’s fingers twitched, how his nostrils flared as he breathed a little heavier than he had before, and he wondered how he had missed all of these signs before. Billy gave himself away in so many ways and Steve had _never_ noticed.

 

            “Unfortunately, you’re in the picture,” Hopper pitched his shoulder in a shrug and waved at one of the kitchen chairs. “Sit, Harrington. I gotta make sure the story is straight, otherwise nothing sticks.” The bitterness in Hopper’s voice sat uncomfortably in Steve’s stomach. It was as if he was hinting that, if Billy didn’t come forth with information, nothing would or _could_ be done about his dad.

 

            Billy’s coke sat untouched and Steve itched to open it for him, but he knew that would look weird. He slouched down into one of the chairs and popped his own coke open. The fizz spilled over, dripping onto his fingers, and Steve swore under his breath. He brought his fingers to his mouth and looked up. Billy was watching him again, his stare sharp and intense. A blush crept over Steve’s cheeks as he licked the spilled coke from his hand. He couldn’t keep Billy’s gaze, though, and quickly looked back to the table.

 

            Hopper cleared his throat and Steve suddenly remembered they weren’t alone. Billy did that to him. He looked up again and smiled sheepishly at Hopper. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

 

            “Don’t have to apologize, kid. But I do want to get this done so you two-“ he looked between them—Steve fidgeting and Billy looking somewhere between bored and irritated, “can get back to whatever the hell it was you were doing.”

 

            “That’s not—that isn’t—“ Steve was cut off when Hopper raised his hand.

 

            “Don’t care to know, Harrington.” Hopper turned to Billy and tilted his head up, as if he was ready for anything to be thrown his way. “Now, Billy, I’ve got some of the story from him-“ and Billy’s eyes flashed to Steve, angry and confused, and Steve felt like _shit_ , “but now I need to know what happened from the start. That means you’re first.”

 

            Billy was used to people shying away from his stare, but Hopper just stared back. He could feel his hackles rising his rage boiling, hiding all of his uncertainty and fear of revealing exactly what went on within his house in front of the fucking cop and _Steve_. Steve shouldn’t have to hear this. He shouldn’t have to know. He saw the after math, but Steve shouldn’t have the fucking details.

 

            “Chatty, aren’t you,” Hopper took a drink of the coke and then sighed. Billy was still silent, staring at him, and Hopper hadn’t seen eyes like those in a long time. Billy was going to fight tooth and nail, and Hopper was ready for it. He had seen this before. It wasn’t new, but working with individuals like Billy was not a cakewalk. “Look, Billy, I understand your reservations about talking. I get that, but you not talking will _not_ keep dear ol’ daddy in jail.”

 

            Billy clenched his fists. He wanted to kick something. To scream. To get into his car and drive as fast as fucking possible away from this place. Talking wasn’t his game, and the cop, given by the way he looked at him, was not going to fucking budge until he said something. There was also the issue that his Camaro was at the damn quarry, and Steve’s BMW did _not_ sound attractive to him.

 

            “Okay, then,” Hopper shook his head. “We’ll start with yes or no questions. That’s easier, right? Was it your dad who burned you?”

 

            “Yes.” Billy’s response was growled, deep in his chest, and Steve held his breath as he watched the storm begin to build in Billy’s shoulders and his biceps.

 

            “Is he the one who caused the bruises on your body?” Hopper watched how Billy’s eyes flickered to Steve for a moment, and he didn’t miss the guilt that had flashed over Billy’s eyes.

 

            “Yes,” Billy looked back. His stomach was in knots and his throat itched. He wanted a cigarette bad enough that he was tapping his heel against the kitchen floor. Maybe it wasn’t the need for a cigarette, though, and Billy hated that he felt exposed, even if it was only yes or no questions.

 

            “Did you leave the night it happened?” Hopper chose his words carefully. He knew that using the terms ‘run away’ wouldn’t end well with someone like Billy.

 

            “Yes,” Billy worked his jaw. He was getting tired of answering questions, and they were only three in.

 

            “Did you start it?” Hopper watched a wash of emotions move through Billy. It was hard to peg the teenager. He saw some guilt, but he also saw rage. He saw the way Billy had locked up at the question. His lips had curled into a sneer and Hopper knew he was getting closer to what he wanted. “Billy, did you start it?”

 

            “ _No_ ,” Billy spat. “I never fucking start it. What the _fuck_ type of question is that?”

 

            “Billy—“ Steve flinched as Billy shot up from the chair. It toppled backward with a bang. Hopper still sat, relaxed, not seeming alarmed at all, but he also didn’t move into an offense or defense position. He didn’t try to make Billy stop, and Steve was struggling with _not_ getting up.

 

            “No, _no,_ fuck this,” Billy pointed a finger at Steve, who sucked in a sharp breath and swallowed, “You don’t get to hear about this shit just because you were there to pick up the pieces. You don’t get to— _no_.” He turned back to Hopper, ready to tell him exactly where to shove it, when Hopper finally stood and stepped up against Billy, inside his fucking personal space.

 

            “Your dad is dangerous, son,” Hopper warned, “And one day, he’s not going to stop. Do you understand, Billy? He’s _not going to stop_. I’ve done enough of these cases to know where this is headed.”

 

            “You don’t know shit,” Billy seethed and Steve closed his eyes. This was going just as well as he thought it would.

 

            “And you’re deflecting,” Hopper raised an eyebrow as Billy flinched. He was, and he fucking knew it. He clenched his fists, but he didn’t step back. That was a sign of weakness. He wasn’t going to be the first one to move out of this situation.

 

            “Sit down, Billy,” Hopper murmured. It wasn’t a command. He knew better than that, but Billy didn’t budge, sneering and spiteful, wound in a tight ball of loathing.

 

            “You’re doing this for your fucking job. This isn’t something _real_. You don’t give two fucks about me, so why-“ Billy snapped his mouth shut as Hopper leaned in, and for the first time, he saw anger in the guy’s face. His heart leapt and his mouth became dry.

 

            “I’m going to ignore that you told me that I don’t care, Billy. I’ll ignore that, _but_ ,” Hopper pointed at Steve, who straightened in his seat as if he had done something terribly wrong (had he?), “he’s in this now, Billy. _Your dad_ saw him. He _knows_ who he is, and after he’s done and through with you, who do you think he’s going to find next?”

 

            _I’ll kill him_ , Billy’s brain supplied before he could actually react. Shocked by the revelation that he would kill his dad to protect Steve, Billy finally broke eye contact with Hopper to look at Steve. Steve, who had paled, whose mouth had opened but nothing came out, whose eyes were on him and so fucking _expressive_. Confused, hurt, _terrified_.

 

            “Billy,” Hopper’s voice gentled because he knew he had struck a nerve. Good. That’s what he needed, even if he hated doing it. “You need to understand. You know your dad better than anyone, and you know what he will and won’t do. You have to _talk_ to me so that I can help you.” Finally, Hopper stepped around Billy and lifted the chair to sit on its feet. “Sit down, kid. I understand you’re frustrated, but it’s more than just you on the line now.”

 

            And that terrified Billy, whose heart was beating so loudly that it almost drowned Hopper’s voice out. It was similar to white noise, and he hadn’t even realized he had sat back down until Hopper settled in, as well. He couldn’t look at Steve now, the guilt of bringing him into a situation like this beginning to eat at the edges of his vision.

 

            “Now, can you tell me what happened and why it happened. That’s all I need, Billy,” Hopper watched the way that Billy’s muscles rippled and tensed continuously. He watched the way Billy clenched his jaw. He even saw how his fingers twitched and curled when his thoughts became too fast. It was hard to hide anything from Hopper, but that was his job, and he was damned good at it.

 

            “He said I ruined Thanksgiving,” Billy finally admitted. He avoided Steve’s eyes. He was too nervous and he didn’t want to see pity. Fuck, he didn’t want to see it. Hopper stayed silent and Billy knew he was waiting for him to continue. He wanted to throw up, instead. “Said she’d be here if it wasn’t for me. He was drunk.” Billy put his hands onto his knees and dug his nails in. “Fuck if I know what that means, though. I haven’t seen her since I was seven.”

 

            “Who?” Hopper furrowed his brow. He had a suspicion, but he wasn’t going to put words in the kid’s mouth.

 

            “My mum,” Billy shrugged and winced. Right. He didn’t have drugs anymore for the pain and adrenaline had numbed him for a moment. Not anymore.

 

            “Billy…” Hopper felt like strangling the asshole currently sitting in his jail. When he had looked up Neil Hargrove, his wife had also popped up. His _deceased_ wife, and Billy had no fucking idea.

 

            “What?” Billy narrowed his eyes and knew, _knew_ something was up. “What? Why the fuck are you looking at me like that?”

 

            “Kid, your mom,” Hopper tried to find the right words, but there was no right way to tell a kid that their parent was dead, especially ten years after the fact. “She’s gone, Billy. She’s gone.”

 

            Billy sucked in a sharp breath and sat there, blindsided. He stared at Hopper and waited for him to laugh. To tell him it was some sick fucking joke. But the silence continued and Billy felt his mind slip and fall. Some part of him had thought, all of these years, that his mom had left because she knew about him, even at the age of seven (but she wouldn’t, she was too lovely for that). Some part of him believed she was out there, waiting for him to escape Neil. Waiting for him to peel away this whole fucking façade he had so he could be himself and they could be happy again.

 

            “-illy, Billy,” Steve had gotten up at some point and was beside him, but he was in too much anguish to actually _listen_. Steve was talking to him, trying to reassure him, and all he could think about was that mother fucker was sitting in a jail cell and he deserved to be in a fucking _grave._

 

            And Billy _screamed_. He doubled over in his chair and screamed until his lungs hurt, until he couldn’t tell if he was shaking or if Steve was. He could feel arms around him, but they didn’t matter because he was trying not to sob while he dry-heaved.

 

            Everything felt like it was on fire and he was seven again and his mom was laughing at some silly thing he did and her blonde hair was in his face and her eyes were twinkling and Billy sobbed. Everything that had encompassed who he was and what he stood for crumbled and left him trembling. He hadn’t gone to the funeral. He hadn’t seen her. He hadn’t said good bye. He hadn’t given her flowers. _He hadn’t said good bye_.

 

            “Think that’s enough,” Steve was clutching Billy, who wasn’t even responding to him, and glared at Hopper. “You done now? Can you fucking leave?”

 

            “I’m sorry, Steve,” Hopper watched and tried to disconnect himself, but it was difficult. He knew pain. He knew _this_ pain, and he knew that Billy needed to be left alone. “I have enough to keep him. I didn’t think he didn’t know.”

 

            “He does now, so _can you leave_?” Steve repeated, his voice strained by his own tears. He hadn’t even realized that tears were slipping down his cheeks. With his attention on the raging storm in front of him, Steve couldn’t actually feel himself. All he felt was _Billy_ —how he shook, how those small noises with every wet gasp made his heart clench, how he could tell that Billy was struggling to breathe because it was _too fucking much_.   

 

            Steve didn’t hear the door open. He didn’t hear it shut, and he didn’t hear the rumble of Hopper’s vehicle as he left. Instead, his eyes were trained on the broken teen in front of him. Billy’s face was a mess of tears, his dark eyelashes pressed against his cheeks, his lips curled in a futile attempt to muffle the strangled noises that tried so desperately to be heard. Even his chest was stuttering, and Steve knew from experience that Billy was trying to contain his grief. He was fighting, and Steve ached.

 

            As Steve began to untangle his arms with the intention of helping Billy up, he was stopped by Billy’s hand on his arm.

 

            “Please… _please_ —“ Billy’s voice cracked and Steve’s heart shattered.

 

            “I’m not going anywhere, love,” Steve eased back to his original position and pressed his lips to Billy’s temple. “I’m here. I’m here.”

 

 

 

 


	14. I'll Fall Willingly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took FOREVER because there is explicit stuff and I'm SO BAD AT IT (this is my belief, others disagree).
> 
> Again, thanks to everyone for following along. This will be the last chapter for a bit because my surgery is tomorrow. 
> 
> Kudos, reads, comments--everything--I absolutely adore them. And I adore you. Thank you for reading. :)

Chapter 14

 

I'll Fall Willingly

 

            Steve wasn’t sure how long he had stood there, holding Billy. By the time Billy’s breathing evened out and he had some semblance of control over his body, Steve’s arms ached and his mind was numb. To him, Billy had been the type of mountain that was untamable, unclimbable, and certainly, unbreakable. That was who Billy Hargrove was, but suddenly, that mountain was destroyed and he wasn’t even sure how he could help rebuild it or if that was even possible. The unbreakable was broken, and Steve wasn’t sure what to expect next.

 

            “Billy?” Steve hadn’t spoken yet, his throat too raw from crying. He couldn’t even imagine what Billy’s felt like. “Baby, talk to me…?”

 

            “I’ll kill him,” Billy muttered and Steve froze. Normally, he would laugh something like that off because people didn’t _mean_ it, but Billy… Billy’s voice was so dead, so unbelievably serious that Steve involuntarily tightened his grip on him.

 

            “That’s—that’s not _reasonable_ , Billy,” Steve grunted as Billy launched himself out of the chair and shoved him away.

 

            “Unreasonable!? That’s fucking _unreasonable_ , Harrington!? That fucker knew my mom was dead. He _knew_ and he never told me. He just let me believe in shit fantasies while he _beat the fuck out of me_ at every fucking chance he had!” Billy laughed, loud and hysterical, “But please, tell me how unreasonable it is to want him dead. Come on.”

 

            Steve had stumbled back, but not hard enough to actually fall over. He knew Billy was lashing out, so he tried to breathe in and stay calm. Buying into his outbursts was the last thing Steve needed.

 

            “You killing him will put you in a jail cell, instead,” Steve warned, and he didn’t realize that he had put himself in between Billy and the front door of the house until he was already there. “Come on, Billy. You need to rest. You’re injured and that was a lot to take in.”

 

            Billy finally leveled his gaze on Steve. His eyes were spitting fire, flashing with turmoil and Steve knew he was in for it. He knew the moment that Billy walked forward that this was going to turn physical, and he made sure to plant his fucking feet.

 

            The second Billy was on him, Steve deflected. He shoved Billy’s arm away mid-punch and shoved his chest hard enough to make him stumble back. Steve wasn’t going to be a punching bag—not again. He dodged another sloppy throw and, as Billy stumbled forward from the force of it (Billy put his _whole fucking body_ into his punches), Steve pushed him into his momentum and watched as Billy fell to his knees. He turned, but not before Billy caught the back of his knee and yanked forward. Steve fell onto his ass with a yelp and immediately began to scramble backward. He needed to get up. Being down while Billy was like this was _dangerous_.

 

            But it doesn’t work. Billy has his leg and Steve is fucked. Even injured, Billy uses the high of his emotions to drive his energy. He yanked Steve toward him, but as soon as he’s close enough to climb on top, Steve kicks his chest. It winds Billy enough that Steve was able to take the advantage, shoving Billy onto his back (which, he winced about, because those fucking burns). He rolled over and managed to sit himself on Billy’s chest, knees shoved firmly into the ground so that Billy can’t throw him off.

 

            “Get off,” Billy hissed and Steve shook his head. “Harrington, I swear to god, if you don’t _fucking move_ —“

 

            “What? You gonna smash my face in? Kill me? Please, Billy,” Steve grabbed Billy’s arm when he realized he was about to get punched again. He shoved Billy’s arm down, and then grimaced as his other fist made contact with his ribcage. In this position, Billy had little power, so the punch was more out of frustration than intent to actually harm. But fuck, it was Billy, and it still hurt (a little more emotional than physical at this point).

 

            “ _Harrington_ ,” Billy’s voice was desperate and Steve knew that Billy wanted to throw down. He knew he defaulted to violence, and he wasn’t going to let him do it. Not against him, anyway. Billy was not going to hurt him because of what had happened. “Please, I _need_ -“

 

            “You need to calm the fuck down,” Steve grabbed Billy’s wrist and yanked it forward. Billy looked startled, at first, and then furious because he couldn’t determine Steve’s next move. Billy was predictable. Steve wasn’t—at least, not like this. When Steve brought his fist up to his lips, Billy blinked, surprised, and hissed as Steve kissed along his first two knuckles.

 

            “Harrington,” Billy repeated. He was trying to make Steve stop, to force him to do something else, to make this more fight than anything, but Steve wasn’t listening and he _hatedloved_ him for it. Steve just continued to press his lips over his knuckles, watching him through half-lidded eyes. Billy clenched his jaw and let out a sharp breath as the fire of his rage began to dwindle.

 

            “Baby,” Steve turned Billy’s hand over. It wasn’t made into a fist any longer, and that let Steve know that Billy was at least calming down. He pressed a kiss to Billy’s wrist and closed his eyes. He let Billy’s pulse move against him, felt how frantic it was, and with each brush of his lips, how it began to slow, to calm, and Steve wondered if Billy even knew what was happening.

 

            “Fuckin’ hate you,” Billy choked out and Steve smiled because he knew it wasn’t true. He could tell by the storm in Billy’s eyes that what he felt was more than what either of them could understand. He could tell by the way Billy’s body eventually relaxed, even with the pain in his back, that he trusted Steve more than he wanted to admit.

 

            “I never hated you,” Steve watched as Billy’s eyes widened and his mouth parted. Normally, Billy was able to recover in seconds, but the shock stayed there. Then Steve saw the doubt—the crushing wave of self-doubt that created the monster that Billy was to begin with. He saw the way Billy was about to object, to tell him to fuck off or some other stupid bullshit, and Steve leaned down to steal his lips. At first, Billy didn’t kiss him back, still treading that horrible line of uncertainty, but then it was as if Billy was starving. He took control of the kiss, cupping Steve’s face with his hands and exploring his mouth with his tongue. Steve eased up on Billy’s chest and, before he even understood what was happening, Billy had flipped them over and Steve was grunting as he his back the ground.

 

            Steve almost objected, as if he suddenly remembered that Billy was injured, but it died on his lips as Billy took his mouth again. They battled for dominance at first, Steve pressing against Billy’s tongue and biting at his lower lip. When Billy tangled his fingers into Steve’s hair and pulled his head back, Steve knew he had lost. He gasped, choking on a moan as Billy’s mouth trailed from his lips down his chin, along his jaw, and to his ear. When Billy clipped his teeth over the lobe and pulled, Steve’s hips involuntarily jerked and Billy _knew_ he had him.

 

            Despite the dull throb of pain in his back, Billy had one goal: to render Steve completely and utterly useless underneath him. His goal was more important than the pain, and once Billy decided he wanted something, he did everything in his power to get it. And he wanted Steve. He continued to tug and kiss just below Steve’s ear while he pushed his t-shirt up and over his chest with one hand. As he did, he brushed the pad of his thumb over one of Steve’s nipples and grinned at the surprised keen at the back of Steve’s throat. He did it again, but this time he pinched instead of just brushed, and his own cock throbbed as Steve whimpered.

 

            “Billy,” Steve hated that he was almost panting already, and was he torn between telling Billy he was too injured for this shit and demanding more.

 

            “Take off your shirt,” Billy demanded and pushed himself up so that Steve had enough room to do so. His eyes, bright and fierce, challenged Steve to object, to say no, and Steve _couldn’t_. He reached down and arched his back so he could pull his t-shirt up and over his chest, then across his face. Before he could drop it, Billy’s hand had captured both of his wrists, still tangled in the shirt, and pinned his hands above his head. For a second, Steve couldn’t think. This made him incredibly vulnerable, and he _felt_ vulnerable.

 

            “Billy?” Steve breathed in sharply through his nose as Billy leaned down far enough to press his lips to his throat. He tugged his wrists experimentally, and he had some give, but not enough for him to get free. He tilted his head back, despite that, and sucked in another harsh breath as Billy’s kiss turned into a bite. He tried not to squirm, but as Billy began to suck at the spot, his choppy breaths turned into a deep moan and his back arched.

 

 

            “Billy, please,” Steve _really_ wanted his hands freed, but Billy simply wasn’t having it. Instead, Billy shifted so that he was straddling one of Steve’s thighs. This allowed him to move his own thigh against Steve’s cock, even if it was trapped behind jeans. He could feel Steve’s body go taut against him, hear the teen swear breathily, and loved the way Steve ground against him every time he bit a little too hard at his throat.

 

            “Could you come like this?” Billy looked down at Steve’s eyes, half-lidded and hazy. He could see where he the beginning of marks decorated Steve’s throat, and he wasn’t sorry for it, because the flush that it caused made Steve’s skin an adorable pink. “Not even touching you. You’d just grind on me until you fall apart.” He rubbed his thigh down against Steve for emphasis and grinned wickedly at the drawn-out, low pitched whine. “I bet you could.”

 

            “Jeans,” Steve gasps out as his hips roll up against Billy’s thigh again. “Please, _please_ take them off.”

 

            “Don’t move your hands,” Billy ordered and Steve wanted to defy him but the way those blue eyes bore into him stopped him from moving. He held his breath as Billy unbuckled and unzipped his jeans. It was almost embarrassing how much he was trembling as Billy not only tugged his jeans down, but his underwear, as well, leaving him naked and fucking _desperate_. When his jeans caught on his shoes, Billy scoffed and pulled those off, too. He tossed Steve’s clothing to the side and then looked back. Steve was exactly where he told him to stay, arms above his head and body on display, and Billy wanted to eat him alive.

 

            “You’re so good for me,” Billy praised and grinned at the way Steve’s eyes lit up and his cheeks flushed. Ah. He could work with that. “Wanna be good for me, princess?” When Steve nodded jerkily, Billy laid out over top of him again and pressed a kiss over the mark he had left earlier. He applied the pressure of his thigh, still covered in sweats, to Steve’s cock and shivered as Steve rolled his hips. It was intoxicating to know that Steve was so willing to do as he was told, even if he could see the little streaks of defiance in Steve’s eyes.

 

            Billy felt as if he was meant to be on top of Steve. The other teen was pliant and, while he was all lean muscle and bone, Billy fit perfectly in the right places—in between Steve’s thighs, stretched out on top of him while he squirmed. Billy glanced up and appreciated that Steve kept his wrists together, above his head, despite the fact that he wasn’t being held there. Steve’s cock was a hot brand on his thigh, even through the sweats, and Billy relished the way Steve continued to roll his hips, grinding against him. His noises, choked gasps and whimpers, pretty little things, made Billy want to move faster than he should.

 

            And Steve was going to kill Billy. He had to clench and release his fingers to refrain from grabbing the other teen. Each time he arched his back and kicked his hips up, pleasure shot from his groin to his stomach, swirling around his veins and bursting in his nerves. He blinked dazedly up at Billy, at his stupid fucking smile that relaxed his face and made him look so much warmer. Steve tipped his head back and screwed his eyes shut. Most of his focus was on the electricity in his body, but he had to try to remember to keep his hands still, to do as Billy asked, but it was getting more difficult as he tumbled closer to coming.

 

            As soon as Billy bit into his throat and pinched one of his nipples, Steve unraveled. His cock jerked against his stomach, against Billy’s thigh, as ropes of cum painted his skin. He gasped harshly, and at some point, he had tangled his fingers into Billy’s hair and gripped him, too lost in his bliss to follow orders. Billy didn’t seem to mind, his lips and mouth continuing to find places on Steve’s neck and throat to suck or bite. Even after Steve fell limp against the floor, Billy still bit and kissed along his jawline, making Steve’s fingers twitch and his breath hitch.

 

            “Fuckin’ stop,” Steve finally pushed the palm of his hand into Billy’s face and groaned. “Too sensitive, asshole.”

 

            Billy simply laughed, and Steve had to pause and _bask_ in the way that it held no malice, no spite. When he opened his eyes, Billy’s lips were quirked in an easy smile and his eyes, fuck, _his eyes_. It was like the storm Steve had witnessed had left a clear, blue sky behind, and Steve tumbled into that sky. They both went quiet for a moment, and the silence between them was some unspoken communication. Steve had no idea what it fucking meant, but Billy’s hands were suddenly on his face and they were kissing, slow and patient. There was something behind the kiss, and although Steve wanted to place it, he couldn’t, didn’t, because he knew Billy wasn’t ready for that.

 

            When they parted, Billy was panting, and Steve was finally seeing him lose his composure. He slid his fingers into those ridiculous blonde curls and pushed them from Billy’s face so he could see him properly.

 

            “Baby,” Steve murmured, and he loved the way Billy’s lips twitched and his eyes flickered up to him, automatically curious as to what he wanted. Billy was _always_ seeking out what Steve wanted, and Billy may be on top of him, but Steve felt powerful knowing that he could pull Billy along, even with his back to the floor.

 

            “Mm?”

 

            “I want you to fuck me.” Steve licked his lips and then burst into a fit of laughter as Billy literally _choked_ , coughing on whatever air he had been breathing in the second Steve had said that.

 

            “Shit—” Billy shook his head and resisted the urge to grind against Steve’s body. Just the thought of Steve’s body around his cock made him dizzy. “Have you even…? I mean, do you even have lube?”

 

            “No, but… uhm, does it have to be lube? Like, specifically?” Steve fidgeted with his hands Billy grinned. _This_. This was fucking cute.

 

            Instead of speaking, Billy slid his fingers around Steve’s wrist. He stroked the skin there, keeping Steve’s gaze, before pulling them both off the floor and onto their feet. Steve didn’t object, didn’t ask what Billy was doing. He just followed him, naked and covered in his own spend, to the kitchen. Billy had kept a hand around his wrist, and while it wasn’t the most intimate gesture, it was more than nothing.

 

             Steve’s stomach warmed as he watched Billy move. Despite his injuries, Billy moved with a stealth-like grace that Steve envied. On the court, in the halls, even now, as Billy turned and crowded Steve into the kitchen island (again), every movement seemed calculated. It was as if Billy always had a target, a means to an end, and his intention was to always win.

 

              Billy was winning Steve, and Steve didn’t care.

 

              Their mouths meet again and Steve is already burning again. Billy hands are planted on the granite counter, his arms trapping Steve’s sides, keeping him in place as they kiss. As soon as he pulls away, Steve is chasing him, but Billy puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back. At Steve’s undignified whine, Billy chuckles.

 

              “Can’t go much farther without lube, princess,” Billy’s voice had a teasing lilt to it and Steve huffed. He _wanted_ , and Billy would _give_ until Steve was damned satisfied. “Where’s the oil?”

 

               “Top cabinet above the stove,” Steve licked his lips and watched Billy saunter around the kitchen counter, as if he had all the time in the world. Steve was vibrating because he had just invited—no, _demanded_ —that Billy fuck him. This was going to happen and Steve was _so fucking okay_ with it. He turned himself around, his stomach against the counter, so he could watch Billy pull out the green tinted, glass bottle.

 

               “Hm, extra virgin,” Billy mused, the cackle clearly in his voice as he shot a look Steve’s way. “Expensive shit, Steve. I suppose it’s only right, though.” His lips curled into a smirk and Steve swallowed. “Only the best for _my_ princess, right?”

 

               “Uhm—yeah?” Steve managed, but he held his breath as Billy walked back around the island.

 

               “Stay faced that way,” Billy murmured, and _that_ tone was back. The demanding. The ordering. Steve bit his lower lip and twitched as Billy touched the base of his spine. The fingers slid up the ridges slowly, feeling, and Steve wanted to whine as Billy’s fingers finally circled around the back of his neck and brushed along his throat. “Spread your legs.” And Steve did because that _voice_ left no room for argument.

 

                The next move wasn’t an order, but it might as well have been. Billy stepped behind Steve, took him by his hips, and pulled him back. He stumbled at first, but then settled again. One of Billy’s hands pressed in between his shoulder blades and pushed his chest to the counter. It was so fucking cold compared to his body and Steve was shuddering. The hand on his back moved down his spine again, all the way to the globes of his ass, before it dropped off. Steve whimpered and clenched his hands. He wasn’t even sure what to _do with them_. All he knew was that it felt as if Billy was going to eat him alive, and he couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

                “Have you ever touched yourself here?” Billy slid his fingers over the crevice of Steve’s ass, all the down to the coil of muscles that he planned on fucking _abusing_. When Steve jerked forward, Billy grabbed his hip and pinched his right ass cheek. “Don’t move. Just answer me, princess. You ever touch here?” He slid his fingers over him again and Steve’s breath stuttered.

 

                 “Yes,” Steve admitted and he could feel Billy tense behind him. He closed his eyes and felt the heat of his blush run from his cheeks to his neck. He wasn’t going to lie to Billy. He had been _curious_ , that was all. He had heard something about how girls would and he just—he just wanted to _know_.

 

                 “Really,” And Billy’s voice had reached a whole new octave and Steve was melting against the counter as Billy leaned over and ground his clothed dick into the crevice of his ass. He moaned and arched his back, rolling his hips into one of Billy’s movements and suddenly he hated those sweatpants.

 

                 “Take them _off_ , Billy, _please_ ,” Steve felt like he couldn’t breathe as Billy leaned over him, their hips locked together, completely still. “Baby, baby _please_. I wanna feel you.”

 

                 “Not yet,” Billy tightened his grip on Steve’s hips. He knew that if he felt Steve bare that he’d be done for. He’d come all over the other teen’s back and that was not something that he wanted. Steve ground back against him and he hissed. He wouldn’t complain about Steve being persistent or demanding, but _fuck_.

 

                 “Show me,” Billy, if he wanted to last any sort of respectable time, needed to back off. He needed time for his body to cool, and what better way than to have Steve display himself against that fucking perfect kitchen island, debasing himself in the obscenest possible way? He grinned at the idea because Steve was fucking _perfect_ for this.

 

                  It took a moment for Steve to connect what Billy said to his previous admission. His eyes widened and his lips parted. That? Him? On himself? He leaned up enough to look over his shoulder, his eyes catching Billy turning one of the kitchen chairs around. He watched the more muscular teen sit and lounge back against the chair and he was so dizzy with need that he whimpered. He could see the strain of Billy’s cock on his sweatpants and he was glad that he wasn’t the only one who was that turned on.

 

                  “Okay, I—“

 

                 “Open the bottle, princess,” Billy drooped his eyelids and smirked. He ran his fingers lightly over his own cock and it burned, even through the sweats. A pleased feeling settled deep into his gut as Steve, with shaking hands, unscrewed the olive oil bottle. “Cover your fingers. Get them nice and wet.”

 

                 Steve wondered if it was possible to just come from Billy’s voice. He was almost on auto-pilot now, doing exactly as Billy said because he _needed_ to. He shivered as the oil dripped over the fingers of his right hand. He moved the oil between them, coating them, just as Billy told him to do, and licked his lips. His mouth was unbearably dry and his lungs ached, but it didn’t deter him.

 

                 “Now show me,” Billy’s voice was almost a growl and Steve wanted to touch him, to explore his body and to make him make that _noise_ again, but he was bent against the counter, displayed and needy. “Open yourself up for me, pretty boy.”

 

                  Steve couldn’t stay all the way bent over against the counter if he wanted to reach, so he leaned up just enough to slip his fingers in between the globes of his cheeks. He shuddered at the odd sensation of the oil moving over his skin. He moved his other hand to pull himself somewhat apart, to make it easier, and nudged his fingers against his hole. His breath sped up and his heart leapt. The first finger slipped in with a little pressure and the burn went down to his toes—but it wasn’t a _bad_ burn. He bit his lower lip and pushed that single finger another knuckle deep and the sensation was _weird_ and _intrusive_ but he couldn’t give a fuck because he knew what he actually wanted was sitting less than ten feet from him.

 

                Once that finger was entirely inside of him, and he didn’t automatically want to pull it out, Steve eased the second one in. He could hear breath hitch, and it wasn’t his own. He was whimpering, trying his best not to squirm under his own fingers, but at the noise that was _not him_ he looked back and froze. Billy had his fingers around his cock and he was stroking himself and Steve wanted _that_ inside of him. He pushed the second digit in and made sure to keep his eyes on Billy’s fingers—how they moved up and down, pausing at the head to squeeze, before venturing back down.

 

                 “Oh, _fuck_ , Billy, _please_ ,” Steve only had two fingers inside of his body and he was so fucking impatient. He pushed them in together, slipping alongside the muscle walls and curling, feeling their way around. At this point, he just wanted the actual thing, the stretch and burn of Billy, but he knew that wasn’t happening. Not yet. He continued to push and move his fingers, even as his body started to squirm and push on its own accord into his hand. Even as his other hand scrambled to find purchase on the too-smooth counter. Even as his cock throbbed and his breath came too fast.

 

                 It had always been easy to ignore _please_ for Billy. It always had. Except when it came to Steve. His fingers tightened around his cock and he hissed, watching as Steve’s sloppy fingers moved in and out of his body. Staying still wasn’t exactly an option for Billy anymore, so he stood, dropped the sweatpants, and walked up to stand directly behind Steve. He could see those doe eyes on him, lidded and hazy with lust, and he grinned. Instead of doing exactly what Steve’s eyes were begging for, Billy eased down to his knees. He let go of his cock and flattened Steve’s hand against the top of his ass. His fingers had stilled, and with the only noise in the kitchen being Steve’s heavy breathing, Billy’s chuckle was _loud_.

 

                 “Hold still, princess,” Billy warned. He slid his fingers over the rim of Steve’s hole, watching his fingers twitch as he did. “Spread your fingers.” And Steve fucking did, pushing at the walls of his body and moaning in that damned obscene way that he does.

 

                 “Billy, what—ohmyfucking _god_ ,” Steve’s lungs ached as he felt Billy’s tongue prod at him, slipping over his fingers and pushing against his hole. His body twitched, but then Billy’s hands were on his hips and holding him still and he was trying _so hard_ not to squirm.

 

                 “Keep spreading,” Billy had _growled_ at him. Steve whined and did as he was told, pressing his fingers against the tight muscles and spreading them as far as he possibly could. He held there, panting, as he felt Billy’s tongue on him again and his knees trembled. The next noise was high-pitched and breathy and Steve couldn’t form a coherent thought as that tongue moved passed his fingers, passed the ring of muscle, and licked along inside of him. He wanted _more_ and knew that his fingers were in the way, but Billy hadn’t told him to move, but he was _aching_.

 

                 When Steve finally gave in and moved his fingers from inside of himself, Billy groaned. Steve was so _good_. He leaned in further, able to slip his tongue further, and shuddered as Steve rocked back against his mouth. He could hear Steve talking, but it was all wordless babbling at this point and by the time he was satisfied with his work, Steve was on the verge of coming again. Relentless, because that’s what Billy was, he stood and reached around Steve’s waist to wrap his fingers around his cock. Steve’s body bowed and his hips kicked back, pushing into Billy’s own.

 

                 For a moment, Billy almost forgot how to breathe as he took in Steve’s body. His back was arched, prettily, his hair a mess and his cheek pressed into the counter. His eyes were open, but barely, and they were unfocused. As he stroked Steve once, twice, he watched Steve roll his hips back. Another noise escaped him and Billy wondered if Steve realized how _loud_ he was.

 

                 “ _Billy_ , for fuck’s sake,” Steve’s garbled words made Billy laugh. He spread his hand over the bottom of Steve’s back and rubbed circles over the skin with his thumb.

 

                 “Yes, princess?” Billy grin widened as Steve shot him a half-pissed, half-needy look.

 

                 “Fuck me already,” Steve glowered and Billy laughed again.

 

                 “Oh, pretty boy is that desperate?” What Billy didn’t expect was Steve standing up and turning around to face him. He hissed as Steve grabbed his jaw and slammed their lips together, his tongue demanding in his mouth. Steve taking some sort of control made his cock throb, and he didn’t even fucking care that Steve was pushing him, while they kissed, until the back of his knees hit the chair and he fell back. Steve chased the kiss, bent over and still latched onto Billy’s lips.

 

                 When Steve finally pulled back, Billy looked almost as wrecked as he did, flushed and hard, his lips parted from their kissing and his eyes half-lidded. He was still alert, though, his eyes trained on Steve. He felt exhilarated because _he_ did that to Billy—cool, composed, fucking in-his-face Billy Hargrove. He stepped back twice to grab the bottle of oil, but he never broke eye contact with Billy, who was breathing a little harder than he had before.

 

                 Steve wanted Billy bursting at the seams. He wanted him to lose control, and he was going to make sure that happened. He tipped the bottle over his palm, collecting the liquid in one giant mess. He didn’t give a fuck, though. He would clean it later. When he felt he had a sufficient amount, he dropped the bottle on the kitchen table and wrapped his fingers around Billy’s cock. The blonde dropped his head back and Steve licked his lips as all of those gorgeous muscles shuddered. Billy’s hips had twitched, but that was it, even as he slid all that oil over him, from base to tip.

 

                 Billy was gorgeous, even with all of those bruises, even with the gauze wrapped tightly around his waist. He was a walking, talking, _breathing_ piece of work and Steve was unraveling him. He squeezed the base of Billy’s cock and slid his fingers up again only because he could, not because Billy wasn’t soaked enough. The noise in Billy’s throat was soft, choked, and Steve’s own breathing deepened. Yes. _This_ is what he wanted. He moved to stroke Billy again, but his wrist was grabbed and held still.

 

                 “Fuck—wait,” Billy shifted in the chair and stroked the soft skin of Steve’s wrist, “You’re gonna have to stop that if you want to be fucked. Come on, move for a second.”

 

                 Steve didn’t want to. He wanted to make Billy come, but he also knew that if he did, he would have to wait to be fucked, and he wanted that more. He obediently stepped back so Billy could stand and push the chair around to face the table. Instead of asking Steve to move, Billy took his wrist and tugged him over so that his back was to Billy’s chest and he was facing the table. Irritated and impatient, Steve ground his ass against Billy’s cock and dropped his head back as the slick heat parted his ass cheeks and settled hotly between them.

 

                 “Damn, princess,” Billy grabbed Steve’s hips and held him. This was already going to be short-lived because he had held out, so he wasn’t about to cover Steve’s back with his cum. And if he wasn’t going to do that, he had to make Steve _stop_. “Hold _on_ for a sec, okay?”

 

                 “No,” Steve huffed and turned. He pushed Billy’s shoulders enough to convince him to sit back down. Those eyes were still on him, though, calculating, as he himself thought about his next move. How was he going to do this? This was, admittedly, new, and he wasn’t sure exactly how to go about—go about _taking_ Billy’s cock into his body.

 

                 Apparently, Billy was the one becoming impatient. He took hold of Steve’s hips and yanked him backward with just enough force that Steve didn’t fall, but he did stumble. He made an undignified noise and shot an angry look over his shoulder.

 

                 “ _Seriously_?” Steve grunted as Billy pushed a hand between his shoulder blades again. He knew that meant to bend over, and he did, his chest just barely touching the table and his arms anchoring him in place.

 

                 “You wanna be fucked, we do it on my terms,” Billy slid his fingers over Steve’s prominent hip bones and then moved a hand to his own cock. He stroked once while his free hand found Steve’s hole again, sliding his fingers over the oil and then rubbing his knuckle over him. Steve’s breath stuttered and his hips rocked back.

 

                 “Just, Billy, stop teasing me,” Steve was grumbling now and it made Billy chuckle.

 

                 “Alright, alright,” Billy’s voice was almost affectionate, and Steve wanted to turn to see his face to see what he would look like if he could _hear it_. But then Billy was helping Steve ease his hips back so that the head of his cock pushed at that tight ring of muscle. Steve forgot about that note of affection and allowed himself to slowly sit back. Little by little, he stretched himself over Billy’s cock. The burning reached all the way into his fingertips, his toes, and he held his breath when it became too much. Each time he did, Billy seemed to sense it, and he would stroke his hips or kiss and bite the middle of his back, his spine.

 

                 “Fuck, princess,” Billy’s voice, breathy and deep, made Steve drop back all the way. He didn’t care if it hurt—he was full, so fucking _full_ of Billy that his head spun. If Steve wanted to move at all, he had to rock forward on the balls of his feet, his elbows digging into the table as his hips shifted and Billy hissed. Once he managed to find a good position, Steve began to roll his hips back and pull them forward, and the feeling of Billy’s fingers digging into his hips was _delicious_.

 

                 Steve kept expecting Billy to talk, to tease him, but all he heard were soft grunts and gasps and he _loved_ it. He drove his hips down harder, faster, his arms slipping on the table with each of his harsh movements. It wasn’t until Billy moved, until he shifted his angle and pushed forward that Steve’s nerves bundled up tightly and then exploded outward. He moaned, sharp and surprised, and Billy chuckled behind him. When he tried to move back, Billy caught his hips and held him still so he could thrust up into that same spot, hard, and held it there. Steve wasn’t sure what noises were coming out of him at this point. What he did know, though, was that he was loud and desperate, scratching against the table, muscles trembling under Billy’s hands.

 

                 “Billy, _please_ ,” Steve’s vision wavered and he realized he was close to crying—out of frustration or pleasure, he didn’t care—he just wanted _more_. When Billy finally relented and pulled almost all the way out of him, Steve pushed back and moaned, taking him right back in. He heard the gasp and did it again, pulling and sinking, dragging Billy’s cock along that spot inside of him that made his body vibrate.

 

                 “Fuck,” Billy finally moaned and Steve knew he was close. He knew because he remembered the hitch in his breath, the curse, the way Billy twitched while Steve’s mouth was on him. Suddenly, Steve wanted to _see_. As soon as he moved forward enough that Billy’s cock slipped out of him, he heard that growl from earlier. Before Billy could protest, though, Steve turned around and climbed into his lap. The shocked expression flickering over Billy’s face was almost just as mind-blowing as the feeling of Billy carefully pushing back in, guided by his hand.

 

                 The position was somewhat awkward, but Steve managed to settle his feet next to Billy’s outer thighs. He cupped Billy’s face, tipping his head up as he started to lift and drop himself. It was hard not to close his own eyes, not to blank out, but he wanted to watch, and it was _so worth it_. Billy’s lips parted, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he lowered his lids at Steve. It made Steve moan, helplessly, and drop harder, move faster. He swiped his thumb over Billy’s lower lip and hissed when Billy bit and then sucked the digit into his mouth.

 

                 “Oh, fuck, Billy,” Steve watched Billy’s mouth move over his thumb, watched him drag his tongue over the pad and his teeth clip over his knuckle. Each lick or bite sent Steve’s hips rolling, grinding down into Billy’s lap, desperately trying to move him deeper into his body. By the little grunts and hitches of breath, Billy didn’t seem to mind, either, both of his planted firmly on Steve’s hips.

 

                 Before Steve could identify where the sound came from, that indistinct crack, they were both toppling forward onto the floor. The chair’s leg had given out, and Steve yelped as his back hit the kitchen floor. Before his head could make contact, Billy’s hand was behind it and he was holding him tightly, his fingers digging into his scalp and his breath harsh. His other arm wrapped below Steve’s hips, cradling him, and his eyes were flickering over Steve’s body as if to make sure he was okay. Somehow, in the tumble forward, Billy had managed to keep their hips connected, his cock deep inside of Steve’s body.

 

                 “Holy shit,” Billy breathed and then laughed. “A little too enthusiastic for the furniture, princess.”

 

                 “Fuckfuckfuck,” Steve reached up, grabbing Billy’s face, his big, ridiculously brown eyes filled with concern. “Y’okay, babe? Are you— _ah_!” Steve’s sentenced turned into nothing as Billy shoved his hips forward, moving impossibly deeper, and he had to refrain from squirming. His head fell back and his teeth clenched together as Billy started a punishing pace, holding Steve absolutely still so he just had to _take it_.

 

                 “Hey,” Billy’s voice was rough, and as Steve opened his eyes (when had he closed them?), he felt the tight hold in his eyes become gentle. Confused, because gentleness wasn’t something he was used to from Billy, Steve tilted his head and kissed his palm. Billy had stilled his hips, so deep inside of Steve that he felt completely and utterly owned. Billy’s eyes were on him, calculating, and Steve wasn’t sure what to expect next. “You’re really fucking pretty.”

 

                 It wasn’t that.

 

                 Steve’s cheeks flared, but as soon as those words left Billy’s mouth, he was moving again, and Steve’s eyes were closed and he was gasping. When Billy’s hand left his hair, he almost protested, _almost_ , until he felt those fingers circle around his cock. He whimpered and pushed his hips up and then back, unable to really decide whether he wanted more of Billy’s hand or his dick. He wanted both.

 

                 Billy wasn’t going to deny Steve, not with the way his body arched, how his hips rolled, how his hands were grabbing for something to hold onto and finding nothing. He leaned down so that their chests nearly touched, so that he could feel Steve’s gasps and moans instead of just hear them. As he thrust in, he pressed his lips just below Steve’s ear and groaned. The noise made Steve’s hips jack up and he shuddered. He _liked_ that Steve responded to him like that—just to the noises he made—and he parted his lips to nip at the skin he just kissed.

 

                 “ _Steve_ ,” his name was tumbling out of Billy’s lips before he could stop himself, and then he hissed, surprised by the sudden spasming around his cock. Steve had moaned, loudly, in Billy’s ear and he realized that saying Steve’s _name_ had made him cum. His fingers dug into Steve’s hip, a bruising pressure, and he continued to thrust into him, to move until Steve was whimpering and squirming and it was _too much_.

 

                 “Billy—please, please—I—“ Steve finally circled his arms around Billy’s neck, clutching to him. The orgasm had made his body shake, turned his skin to fire, destroyed his thoughts, so when Billy continued to move, continued to drive into his over-sensitive body, he wanted to weep. He wanted to feel Billy pulse inside of him, to feel full of him, and he was desperate to push him over the edge.

 

                 Experimentally, Steve tilted himself up just enough to sink his teeth into Billy’s neck. The noise Billy made was between a moan and something choked off, something surprised, and Billy’s hips stuttered. Steve bit again and then ran his tongue over the grooves made in the skin, and Billy was gone, his movements frantic, borderline desperate. As soon as Billy’s body went taut, Steve knew he was coming, and he rolled his hips down to take absolutely everything Billy had to give. He thought he heard Billy whispering his name, but he was too far gone to know if he had just imagined it.

 

                 It took a few moments of heavy panting, both shaking, to come back down from their highs.

 

                 “Oh, _fuck_. My mom is going to _kill me_ ,” Steve groaned and Billy threw his head back and laughed.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Billy is still injured.
> 
> Yes, Steve will get to that.
> 
> Right after assessing the damage to the kitchen chair.
> 
> #momsteve


	15. Protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly enough, not having anything to do while recovering from surgery is an excellent time to write.
> 
> And I love all of you.
> 
> Thanks for reading, kudoing (is that a word?), and leaving comments.
> 
> Here's chapter 15~

Chapter 15

 

Protection

 

            As much as Steve wanted to complain about the mahogany chair and what his mom was going to do to him, he was far more concerned about Billy. The guy had just fucked him, relentlessly, without apology, and he was _injured_. Steve should have stopped him at some point, but Billy’s ability to make him mindless couldn’t be beat. Hell, they hadn’t even managed to pull themselves up from the floor. Billy was lying on his stomach, chin on his arms with his eyes on Steve. He looked content, even with the waves of pain rippling behind those blue eyes.

 

            Steve was on his side with a couple of fingers curled in stray curls of Billy’s hair. He was watching him, and for once, Steve felt like the one who was calculating, thinking, while Billy just basked in whatever he was thinking about (was he even thinking?). Steve reached forward and slid the pad of his thumb over Billy’s cheekbone all the way to his lips. He smiled as Billy parted his lips to bite him. He didn’t mind. It was almost cute.

 

            “We need a shower,” Steve finally pushed himself up, and he tried not to flinch at the twinge of pain in his lower back. “And I gotta clean up this mess. Christ. This is gonna take forever.”

 

            “It was for a good cause,” Billy argued and it made Steve laugh. Yeah, right. Good cause—fucking him to the point that he was nothing more than a babbling mess. He felt his cheeks warm, and before Billy could comment, Steve was on his feet and offering a hand to him. When Billy took it and slowly stood, Steve knew he hurt. He must be aching, and he couldn’t help the guilt that bubbled into his stomach.

 

            “Asshole,” Steve mumbled, and he hid his smile as Billy laughed. “Come on. Shower’s upstairs.” What Steve had to consider was Billy’s burns. How could he shower without hurting him? It probably wouldn’t happen. It would hurt, no matter how much Steve wished it didn’t. As they both climbed the stairs, he paid special attention to Billy—the way he set his feet, how his hip faltered, how, at one point, he had to pause (Steve wasn’t sure if it was physical or emotional pain).

 

            When they made it to the bathroom, Steve hesitated and looked back at Billy.

 

            “I’ll need to… to get those off,” Steve gestured to the gauze wrapped around Billy’s middle and lower torso. He tensed as Billy’s posture became rigid. No, please, no. _Please just accept my help. Billy, please_.

 

            “I can do that myself. I’m injured, not invalid,” Billy’s gaze was on Steve, but not on his eyes. Steve couldn’t catch his gaze for the life of him. He blew out a frustrated breath and ran his fingers through his hair.

 

            “Look, Billy. I get it. You don’t like to be helped, but… You could let me do this for you. Let me take care of you,” Again, that line. Steve felt as if he would be saying it for however long they were together (were they together? Shit). He stepped forward, toward Billy, and frowned as Billy moved backward.

 

            “No, Steve. I have to do this myself,” Billy’s lids had lowered and he was still avoiding Steve’s eyes. Steve wanted to— _he didn’t even know_. He was torn between the urge to snap at Billy--to keep pushing--and to just leave the bathroom.

 

            “Can I at least stay in here?” Steve pursed his lips and waited for the _no_. He waited to be pushed out again, and was surprised when Billy stepped forward and pressed his lips to Steve’s temple.

 

            “Sure, pretty boy. It’s your house,” Billy stepped back again, and Steve wanted to stress that wasn’t the point. He didn’t say anything, though, afraid to shatter this fragile trust between them. Instead of crowding Billy’s space, Steve bent over the tub and started the water. It gushed out of the spout and Steve tried his best not to turn around, not to offer more help, but it was _so hard._ He closed his eyes and yanked the lever that turned the water into a shower.

 

            When Steve stood again, he glanced over his shoulder. Billy was in the process of unraveling the bandages, bit by bit, and Steve felt shitty because he didn’t want to see what was underneath. He didn’t want to see the bubbles of skin or the discoloration. He wanted it to be a nightmare. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. It was just as he was going to step into the tub that he heard the little gasps, the sharp intakes of Billy’s breath, and he clenched his hands.

 

            Fuck the consequences. Steve couldn’t let him do this alone. He turned and stepped up behind Billy. The gauze was mostly gone, unraveled on the floor, but the patches with the burn cream were still plastered to Billy’s back. The teen had obviously tried to take one off and then given up. His hands were gripping the counter, his knuckles white, and Steve ached. He slid his fingers over one of Billy’s shoulder blades, stroking the prominent bone before pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

           

            They didn’t exchange words; they didn’t need to. Steve used one hand to stroke down Billy’s spine while the other worked on peeling away the large squares of bandage. Every time Billy hissed or shook, Steve pressed his lips to his shoulder and met his eyes in the mirror. When he finally peeled the last square off, Billy’s body was vibrating. Steve wasn’t sure if it was physical or emotional pain, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he slid around Billy’s left side. He reached out and rubbed his hand over Billy’s until he let go of the counter.

 

            Steve brought Billy’s hand to his lips and kissed the inside of his palm. He smiled as Billy looked over to him and gently tugged him toward the shower. Billy followed without protest, without a word, and Steve knew his mind was vacant. He had seen the way that light in Billy’s eyes had gone out and knew Billy’s mind was somewhere else. Where, he wasn’t sure, but he knew he wanted to take care of him (even if he knew Billy hated it).

 

            Steve leaned over, opened the small towel closet, and pulled out a wash rag. He slid the glass door to the shower open and stepped in first. Once he was situated so the water was drenching his back, he offered Billy his hand. He could see a battle going on in Billy’s head, the pros and cons of being vulnerable and in the shower with him, and he couldn’t deny that relief spread through him as Billy took his hand and stepped into the shower.

 

            Once Steve slid the glass door shut, he took in the purple, green, and yellow splotching on Billy’s chest and stomach. His face wasn’t as messed up as his body, but that wasn’t exactly a consolation in this whole fucking mess. He bit his lower lip and looked up to Billy’s face again.

 

            “Somethin’ to say, Harrington?” Billy asked. Steve was sure there was supposed to be venom laced in his words. He was sure it was supposed to bite, but the words were empty.

 

            “Yeah, sure,” Instead of playing into Billy’s jab, Steve took his jaw and angled his face so they were looking at each other properly. “You’re fucking hot as hell, Billy.”

 

            Billy laughed, half-wrung out and half-true, but it quickly dissolved into a dry sob. Steve, startled, tossed the wash rag to the side and stepped into Billy’s space. He moved his hand into Billy’s hair and tangled his fingers there. His other hand moved to Billy’s face, swiping away some of the tears that were rolling down his cheeks. Shit. He hadn’t meant to do that—he hadn’t meant—

 

            “I’m sorry,” Steve breathed and pressed their foreheads together. He could feel Billy shaking and he wondered, distantly, how long Billy had just let his emotions warp and coil. Uncertain what to do (because Billy was crying in his shower and _how had they come to this_ ), Steve tilted his head and began to kiss along Billy’s brow bone, down to the corner of his eye, and then along his cheek to his lips. He could feel Billy’s gasping breaths against his lips, and although Billy barely returned the kiss, Steve pressed their lips together.

 

            When Steve could feel Billy’s breathing even out, he pulled back enough to look over his face. Billy hadn’t closed his eyes, but they were only half-open and Steve’s chest hurt because they were devoid of emotion. Whatever was going on in Billy’s head was tearing him apart (was he ever whole?), and Steve wished he could reach in and calm the storm. He knew, though, that Billy had been through shit and mud the last couple of days, so Steve’s only mission was to take care of him. A part of him thought that he may be the first, in years, that had taken on this role.

 

            “Hey, come on,” Steve made sure to keep his voice gentle because he knew he was treading a dangerous line, “I gotta clean those burns and then we can eat or sleep or some stupid shit like watch a movie.”

 

Steve stepped back again so that he could pick up the wash rag. He ran it under the water, soaking it through. While Billy could technically get under the spray, he wasn’t sure it would feel all that great, and he was determined to make this as painless as possible. He turned back to Billy and reached out to stroke a line over his stomach. “Turn around for me?”

 

            When Billy turned, Steve’s jaw clenched. The skin from his mid-back to just below the start of his ass was an angry red. There were blisters, swollen and discolored, and Steve wanted to kill Neil all over again. The cream they had applied at the hospital had already soaked through, leaving the skin oily, and he was sure less inflamed, but it still looked so fucking painful and he was _so sorry_. He closed his eyes for a moment, just to compose himself, and then opened his eyes again and began to gently press the rag over the burns.

 

            Billy’s shoulders went rigid and he heard him hiss, but otherwise, nothing came out of him as Steve gently rubbed over the burns. Some of the blisters oozed and Steve managed to keep himself from wincing, even as Billy’s body twitched (involuntarily, he was sure). After he was done pressing the rag over the hot skin, Steve tossed the rag to the side and pressed his lips to Billy’s shoulder again. He tangled his fingers into Billy’s hair and pushed it to the side so he could kiss the back of his neck, too.

 

            “I’m sorry,” Steve repeated. He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, but he had said it, and he let it hang in the air. Billy didn’t say anything for a long time, and although Steve was becoming worried, he knew better than to press.

 

            “What the hell are you sorry for?” Billy’s voice was muffled by the sound of the shower, but Steve was close enough to hear him.

 

            “I don’t know,” Steve sighed and felt Billy tense. It was the wrong answer, he knew, and he moved quickly to fix it. “I mean, fuck, Billy. You don’t deserve this.” At Billy’s crack of laughter, dripping with malice, Steve pressed on, “You don’t deserve to be scared all of the time. You don’t deserve to hurt like this. You shouldn’t have to hide yourself away or—or—fight just to survive. You should be able to go home and have a fucking normal family. You deserve to be happy.”

 

            And wasn’t that fucking ironic, Steve thought miserably, but he was pulled from his thoughts as Billy turned around. He nearly slipped as Billy shoved him against the shower wall. His back hit the tile and he winced, but he didn’t back down. He stared into Billy’s eyes and refused to let himself get angry. Billy’s breathing was off. It was too choppy, too rushed, and his eyes were glimmering with unshed tears. Steve twisted against the tiles, but he was pinned, so he relaxed, instead.

 

            “You don’t deserve this,” Steve repeated and he saw the way Billy’s lower lip quivered, how his eyes flashed in doubt. “You. Don’t. Deserve. This.”

 

            Steve watched as a tear slipped down Billy’s face. He watched as Billy suffered through so many emotions that it was hard to keep track of them all. By the time Billy was ready to speak again, Steve was shivering from the cold press of the tiles.

 

            “You don’t know what kind of monster I am,” Billy murmured and there was so much conviction in that Steve knew Billy believed it.

 

            “I’ve seen monsters, Billy. You’re not a monster. You’re hurting and you’re surviving, but that doesn’t make you a monster,” Steve tipped his head against the tiles and bit back tears. He shouldn’t have to convince Billy that he wasn’t a monster. He shouldn’t be standing here, worried about the water on Billy’s back, worried about how he might snap, how they were so fucking _close_ and yet, Billy seemed out of reach.

 

            Steve closed his eyes as Billy finally moved off him. He stayed against the tiles for a moment, simply breathing, and then opened his eyes again to look at Billy. He looked ready to bolt, ready to get the fuck out, and Steve didn’t want that. When he took Billy’s wrist in his hand, he was sure he was going to yank away, to move back, but he didn’t, and Steve’s heart sang. He moved forward, closing the small distance between them, and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Billy’s lips.

 

            “I’ll drag you down with me,” Billy muttered and Steve _ached_. He ached so horribly that the tears he had held back slipped down his cheeks. He shook his head and wrapped his arms around Billy’s neck. He held him, even as Billy went taut, even as his body shook with the obvious need to pull away.

 

            “Who says I can’t pull you up?” Steve held his breath and waited for Billy’s response. He held onto him, his hold firm and unrelenting. Instead of responding, Billy’s knees gave out. Steve grunted as he settled on the bottom of the tub with Billy, holding him like he hadn’t been held in fucking years, and he didn’t say a word as Billy trembled in his arms.

 

~ ~

 

            Eventually, Steve managed to get them both clean and out of the shower. He redressed Billy’s burns because of course his parents had burn cream and everything else they needed. By the time they were both in Steve’s bed, Billy on his stomach and Steve on his side, he was exhausted and couldn’t even think about food. He was sure he should be hungry, as should Billy, but the shitty day was finally ending, and maybe, just maybe, Sunday would be better for them.

 

            “Max and Susan come back tomorrow,” Billy was speaking into his arms, so Steve struggled to understand him. He got the gist, though, and scooted closer to Billy. The blankets helped keep them warm, but Billy was like a damned furnace. It was hard not to latch onto him because Steve was _always_ cold.

 

            Steve pressed his cheek into his pillow and watched Billy closely, not saying a word. He knew that if Billy wanted to talk, he would keep going. If he didn’t, that would be the end of it. As he watched Billy, he could see the signs of his emotions getting to him. His fingers were curling harder into his pillow, his muscles flexing and relaxing with each stuttered breath.

 

            “They won’t blame you, baby,” Steve finally reached out and slid his fingers over the top of Billy’s shoulders, along his back, and then laid his arm there. He wasn’t sure if the weight of his arm would help Billy stay here with him, but he could hope. When Billy didn’t respond, Steve slid so that he was pressed up against his side. He pressed a kiss to Billy’s bicep and offered a tiny smile when Billy finally looked at him.

 

            “Getting protective of me, princess?” Billy’s voice was light, but there was a hitch there that, if Steve hadn’t known him, he wouldn’t have caught. Steve took a moment to just look at Billy—from his curls to his furrowed brows, then to his eyes that still resembled a bellowing, frantic storm.

 

            “Yes,” Steve said firmly. The shock that reflected in Billy’s eyes made Steve press impossibly close. “Yes, Billy Hargrove, I’m becoming protective of you, and I don’t care what you say, I’m not going _anywhere_.”

 

            Steve was concerned, at that point, that Billy would tell him to fuck off and get out of the bed. Instead, Billy turned onto his side and gathered Steve into his arms. He tangled one hand into his hair, the other resting on his hip. He didn’t say anything, but Steve guessed that he didn’t have to. Steve tucked an arm around Billy’s side, careful of the burns on his back, and nestled his cheek on his bicep. He closed his eyes and breathed Billy in, and within moments, he was drifting. Billy’s heat, combined with the gentle heart beat against his cheek, lulled him passed restlessness and into a deep sleep.

 

            As Steve slept against him, Billy stared into the room’s darkness. His mind kept rolling over what Steve said. He’d protect him. He was there. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was plastered to his side, no matter what, and Billy felt himself…become okay with that. As he slipped his fingers through Steve’s hair, felt his breath against his neck, felt his lips twitch against his skin, Billy decided that… that he could. He could be protected by Steve.

 

           Billy could stand not to fight alone, not to _be alone_ , and that was his last thought before sleep embraced him.

 

 

 

 


	16. Where Home Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last installment, but I am thinking about a sequel where we see our boys functioning (and sometimes not so much because I'm an angst queen).
> 
> Thank you for staying with me, for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. It means the world to me.

 

Where Home Is

 

            The atmosphere in the car was thick as Steve drove toward Billy’s house. They had gotten a call that morning that Susan and Max had come back, that they were waiting to talk to Billy. Steve had to coerce Billy into the car, murmuring assurances and kissing his lips, his cheeks, his brows, before he would actually settle long enough without pacing. Once Billy was buckled in (because safety), Steve had climbed in and kept his eyes on the road.

 

            Steve wanted to say something, absolutely _anything_ to help Billy through whatever was going on in his head. He could already tell that despite the fact that they were sitting next to each other, Billy’s actual mind was far from here. His eyes had taken on that glazed-over look that he sometimes got in the hospital, and it made Steve nervous. He wasn’t sure what was better: Billy freaking out or completely withdrawn. Both were terrible options, but what else was he supposed to do? It’s not like talking to Susan and Max about his dad being in jail (and having a restraining order placed on him) was a fun topic.

 

            “What if they blame me?” Billy’s voice jarred Steve. He was so involved in his own thoughts that driving and listening had become secondary.

 

            “They won’t, baby,” Steve reached over and slid his palm over Billy’s knee. He squeezed him. Billy could complain all he wanted about his car being an automatic—at least he could touch him while he drove.

 

            “But what if they _do_? What if—what if Susan decides I’m exactly what he said I was and leaves? What do I do then? I’m almost eighteen, but not an actual _legal_ adult, that would put me—“ Billy’s voice trailed off and Steve’s stomach began to hurt.

 

            “Hopper has to have a plan,” Steve murmured, and he wasn’t sure if it was a reassurance for himself or for Billy. Probably both.

 

            “Not everything works out!” Billy snapped and Steve knew he was hurting. He knew he was terrified of what was going to happen in that house, so he let it slide. Instead, he pulled his BMW off to the side of the road, his tires crunching gravel.

 

            After Steve put the car in park, he scooted over the center of his seat and crowded Billy against the door. The other teen looked frantic, his eyes wide and normally sun-kissed skin so pale. It hadn’t really gotten its tint back since the hospital, and Steve missed it. He missed the sharp grins and the light jabs (even some of the heavy ones). He missed their back and forth and felt muffled underneath all of the shit that was going on.

 

            “Whatever happens in there, Billy, I meant what I said last night,” Steve grasped Billy’s jaw and turned his head. Those blue eyes finally caught his and he attempted a weak smile. “I’ll protect you. I’ll be there for you, and we’ll work through whatever is thrown at us. That’s what people do, right? I mean, you usually hit things dead on, preferably with a fist, but it doesn’t… you don’t have to struggle alone. I’ll be here.”

 

            Steve watched as several emotions played over Billy’s face and didn’t move until he nodded. Talking at Billy was one thing. Sometimes, it went through one ear and out the next. If he wanted Billy to _truly_ get it, to truly understand that he was there and not budging, he had to be directly in front of him and had to have an affirmative. Billy _had_ to recognize what he was saying and nod, otherwise Steve was sure he didn’t hear him.

 

            “Billy,” Steve carded his fingers through those messy curls and pulled them away from his face. “Come on, baby. Just talk to me. Stop going wherever you’re going and _talk to me_.”

 

            For a long moment, Billy just stared at him and held his breath. Steve could see the gears turning, the calculation of the risks in his eyes. He could see that Billy wanted to talk, but after years and years of being belittled and disregarded, those thoughts stayed exactly that: thoughts.

 

            Finally, Billy spoke, and Steve’s nerves lit up.

 

            “I like what we have,” Billy admitted, “I mean, whatever this is. I like it, and I don’t… I don’t want to ruin it.” There was an implication there, an unspoken ‘but I will,’ and Steve pressed his lips together to prevent protesting. He knew Billy just needed time, and at the end of the day, that’s all Steve could offer him: time and himself.

 

            “I like it, too,” Steve admitted and smiled at the little grin that swept over Billy’s face. “And, honestly, we’ll probably both fuck up sometimes, and that’s… okay. It may hurt like hell, but I guess that’s how relationships work?”

 

            “Now we’re in a relationship?” Billy raised an eyebrow and Steve snorted.

 

            “Seriously? You’re asking me that _now_?”

 

            “We never labeled it,” Billy argued and Steve _loved_ that there was a spark behind his voice again. It was always chilling to Steve to hear nothing in Billy’s voice—anything but nothing.

 

            “Do you want to label it?” Steve wouldn’t mind calling Billy his boyfriend. As weird as that sounded, the idea of claiming the furious, unbridled teen made his heart pound (and how cliché was that shit?).

 

            “I… no, not right now,” Billy’s eyes flickered away, but Steve still smiled. He understood Billy’s reluctance, and even though they would have to keep this hidden, he respected his boundaries. After all, too much happened in too little time, and this was probably the one thing Billy _didn’t_ have to worry about. Steve didn’t plan on going anywhere.

 

            “Alright, well… when you want to have that conversation, let me know,” Steve shifted back over to his seat and tried to relax.

 

            “Steve?”

 

            Billy saying his name would _never_ get old.

 

            “Yeah, Billy?” Steve glanced over as he put the car in drive and pulled back onto the road.

 

            “Thanks.”

 

            Instead of talking, Steve reached over and laced their fingers together. He could see Billy in his peripheral vision, and for the first time that day, he seemed to relax.

 

~ ~

            Getting Billy in the car was easy in comparison to getting him out. Once Steve had parked in the driveway, Billy had gone silent. Steve tried to coax him out with words, used those same assurances that had worked before, but Billy stayed stiff and still. The only actual sign that he was even alive was his stuttered breathing and his flickering eyes.

 

            Finally, Steve slid out of the car, making sure to take the keys with him, and walked up to the door. He knocked gently and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

            When the door opened, Steve smiled at Max.

 

            “Hey, brat,” Steve murmured.

 

            “Ass,” Max replied easily and leaned to the side. She looked beyond Steve to the car and frowned. “Why is he still in the car?”

 

            “He’s…” When Steve looked back, he had to keep his shoulders from slumping. “Honestly, Max, I can’t get him out.”

 

            “Oh…” Max looked contemplative for a moment before nodding. “I’ll get him.”

 

            “I’m not sure-“

 

            “I’ll. Get. Him,” Max threw Steve a look that rivaled one of Billy’s. He raised his hands in defeat and stepped to the side as she walked, in her usual brisk way, toward the car. Her hair whipped around her as she did, and Steve wasn’t sure how he didn’t notice the similarities between them to begin with. Sure, they weren’t blood related, but she had just as much fire in her and her eyes looked too old for her age.

 

            As Steve leaned against the house, his anxiety began to roll in his stomach. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he knew better than to hover or loom over the two. It wasn’t like he couldn’t hear them from where he was, but that protectiveness for Billy still gnawed at the edges of his mind. He watched, resisting the urge to walk over, as Max eased the door open and leaned back against it. She wasn’t in Billy’s space, but she also wasn’t backing off.

 

            “Hey, Billy,” Max glanced over Billy’s face and noted the strange way he seemed to be staring off into space. He looked uncomfortable in the seat, and Max knew why. They had talked to Hopper—well, Hopper had talked to her mom. She had listened in about the altercations, the injuries, the hospital stay. She had watched as Susan looked away, and Max had suddenly _knew_. She _knew_ her mother was aware of Neil knocking Billy around. Susan had even stammered out that she didn’t think it had gotten _that bad_ , and Max almost blew her top. _When was bad enough?_ Wasn’t hitting _once_ bad enough?

 

            But Max also knew that she couldn’t say anything. Billy needed some normalcy, and she was more than willing to give him that.

 

            “Helloooo, dickhead, my shitty repair job on my board fell apart, and I need help repairing it,” Even if Max had to tear it up, she would, just to get Billy into the house. When his eyes flickered over to her, she knew she was at least getting some sort of response. “And I kinda didn’t do any of my homework while at my aunt’s, so I’m kinda fucked…”

 

            Max knows she won when Billy lets out a shaky breath, something close to a sigh, and she eased out of the way just as Billy began to climb out of the car. He stood for a moment, his arm resting on the rim of the car door. His gaze swept over the yard and then the house, and for a few moments, he didn’t move. He didn’t want to. There were too many memories here, and none of them were positive. Absolutely none of them. Then, his eyes finally landed on Steve.

 

            The guy was leaning against the house, his arms crossed firmly over his chest. His head was tilted and he had his shades on still, but Billy knew he was watching him. As he looked over Steve, taking in his posture, his thinned lips, his furrowed brows, all he can think is that maybe, just maybe, he could do this. He could do this because Steve was standing there and waiting for him. He wasn’t about to walk into that house alone and the realization sent warmth throughout his body. For the first time that day, Billy feels like he can stomach this.

 

            What Billy did miss, however, was the way Max caught that look in his eyes—a gentleness she had never witnessed from Billy. Hell, she watched his shoulders release some of their tension, and the lines on his forehead eased. When she looked over, her eyes caught Steve and she paused. Oh. _Oh_. Something lit up inside of her and she couldn’t quite place it, but she definitely noticed how Billy became more at ease, more confident as he walked around her and made his way toward the house. She leaned against the open door and smiled at Steve, who didn’t even return it because his eyes were on _Billy_. His whole body had tilted toward him, the same way Lucas’s did when she talked to him.

 

            Max’s suspicions were confirmed when Billy got closer to the house. Steve’s arms fell from his chest, his palms out in what looked like an almost attempt to hug. It was stopped, midway, and Max held her breath. Billy’s back was facing her, so she couldn’t see his face, but his body had relaxed almost completely. His hands were loose and his head was tilting. Steve’s lips were spreading into a wide smile and Max found it interesting that it took them moving to this tiny-ass town in the middle of nowhere for Billy to find someone that was _good_ for him.

 

            “You comin’, punk?” Billy called out, and suddenly Max was slamming the door, ignoring Steve’s wince (“too hard, Max!”), and racing up to the door.

 

            Billy was glad that Max went first. She opened the door and looked back, as if making sure that Billy was following. He was (sort of), but Steve was there, his palm on the small of his back, gently urging him forward. As Billy stepped into his house, he found it difficult to breathe. He sucked in between his teeth and wished he could just do this without feeling so much. He wished he could walk in and feel absolutely _nothing_ , but the torrent of emotions in his head and chest said differently.

 

            “I’m right here, Billy,” Steve murmured behind him, and Billy grasped desperately to that. He swallowed down whatever nasty comeback he had (because he _always_ had one), and finally glanced into the kitchen. Susan was sitting at the table, her hands around a mug of coffee, steam swirling in front of her face. She was watching Billy with those sad, apologetic eyes that he hated so much.

 

            “Hi, Billy,” Susan tried to smile, but it faltered when Billy didn’t respond. He just stared at her, lost between shouting at her and fleeing. “Please, Billy. Hear me out?”

 

            When Billy shifted backward, he felt Steve there. He knew he had to face this. He _knew_ that, but he didn’t fucking want to. Steve at his back was comfort _and_ it made him feel trapped. Even if this was the right thing to do, the right step toward some sort of healing, he would rather let himself bleed. However, as his eyes dropped to Max, his resolve cracked. She was watching him and there was a plea in those eyes.

 

            Then, Max was reaching out and slipping her small hand through his. She tugged him forward, and Billy followed because he was an _idiot_. He let her lead him to the table, watched her tug a chair out and let her push him into it. His eyes fell on the table, anywhere but Susan, and his fingers dug into his thighs. Max had disappeared into the living room again, as if that gave them any semblance of privacy in the tiny house.

 

            “Look, Billy…” Susan tightened her grip on the mug. He could hear the hurt in her voice, and he wanted to scream at her. She didn’t _deserve_ to have that in her voice. She didn’t deserve to talk to him like she understood. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking. It was terrifying to him how easily he reverted back to old habits when confronted with this shit.

 

            “I know that I’m partly to blame,” Susan conceded and Billy’s eyes snapped up. He stared at her, shocked into holding his breath. It had always been _his_ fault. It was strange, foreign, to hear someone else admit fault. It made his skin itch. “I didn’t stop him. I didn’t… I saw what he was doing, and I didn’t step in and I’m _so_ sorry.”

 

            Billy could see the tears in her eyes and he tried to feel something for her. He tried, but the cold, dead weight in his chest told him that it would be a long time before he let anyone in again. Steve was different. Steve, who was sitting in the living room with his arm slung around Max, was different. He looked down at the table again and heard her shift in her chair.

 

            “But I want to—I mean, I would like to try to fix this. To show you that I care,” Susan hadn’t touched her coffee, Billy noted numbly.

 

            “I know it may take a long time,” Susan continued, and Billy wished she would just _stop_. “But I don’t want to lose you. I want… I want to know you.”

 

            Billy looked up and finally caught her eyes. He stared at her, unable to look away, unable to really _say_ anything because what was he supposed to say? ‘It’s okay? You’re forgiven for watching him _smack me around the fucking house_?’ Suddenly, he was out of his chair and headed to the bathroom. Susan had flinched, and that made his stomach turn even harder than it was already. He slammed the bathroom shut before anyone could get to him, and then he was throwing up.

 

            Billy’s anxiety had finally caught up to him, and the way Susan had cringed away from him made him realize that maybe, just fucking maybe, Neil hadn’t only been hitting him. He gripped the porcelain of the toilet, his vision swimming as his body heaved again, forcing him to gasp through his nose.

 

            When the door eased open, Billy didn’t have to look over to know it was Steve. He was positive he was done throwing up, but he was still on his knees and leaned over the toilet. He could see Steve out of his peripheral, and the guy moved slowly, easing down next to him and sliding a hand over his back.

 

            “Hey, baby,” Steve murmured, and suddenly tears were spilling down Billy’s cheeks. Steve didn’t say anything else. He tangled his arms around Billy’s waist and spread his legs so he could hold him against his chest while Billy worked through the sobs that wrecked his body.

 

            By the time Billy had some sort of control, all he could hear was the thumping of Steve’s heart and the noise of the bathroom fan. Steve was still quiet; his fingers ran through Billy’s hair, untangling some of the curls as he went. His eyes were on the wall, as if he was thinking, and Billy wondered what he did to deserve Steve Harrington.

 

            “Are you ready?” Steve asked quietly. Billy knew he was being pushed again, knew he was being gently coaxed into going back out there, and he _didn’t want to_. Yet, as Steve pressed his lips to his temple, Billy nodded. Steve stood slowly and he pulled Billy with him. By the time they were out of the bathroom, Billy’s anxiety was back and clawing at him.

 

            Susan was still sitting at the table. Her coffee was gone, but she looked more frightened than apologetic. Billy didn’t want her to look like that. It reminded him of his dad, and he didn’t want to be his dad. He didn’t want…

 

            “You, too.” It wasn’t a question when it fell from Billy’s lips, tumbled out of him without apology. When Susan looked up, eyes glassy, he knew. He fucking _knew_ and he hoped Neil rotted for the rest of his life in jail (even if he knew he wouldn’t).

 

            “We didn’t deserve it,” Susan said, but it was soft and Billy strained to hear her. Her eyes had fallen to the table for a moment, and then they returned to him. “Billy, we didn’t _deserve_ it. We deserved none of it. None of it was your fault. What he did was…” She shook her head and stood. It was hesitant, though, and Billy could feel his muscles trembling as she walked toward him. She was treating him like a scared animal, and in a sense, he supposed he was.

 

            “You did nothing wrong, Billy. You are a _child_ and he is a monster for having touched you like that,” Susan was in front of him now and Billy’s back was almost touching Steve’s chest. Steve was uncharacteristically quiet, but the buzz in Billy’s ears was loud enough to drown out a fucking train.

 

            “Did you hear me, Billy?” Susan reached up and tucked a stray curl behind his ear. He flinched, but she cupped his face, forcing him to look at her. “Nothing you ever did, nothing you are, would ever justify that man putting his hands on you.”

 

            Billy was beginning to tumble into his mind, memories of Neil over him, on top of him, fists being thrown into his body (sometimes so fucking young) making him dizzy. His words—all of the accusations and slurs—clanging around in his head. Finding out his mother was _dead_ and Neil never fucking telling him. His body was shaking and breathing was becoming so fucking hard. He was sure he deserved some of it. If he hadn’t, why had it happened? Why was it allowed to happen? Why did he _still want_ a fucking dad, knowing what he had done?

 

            Just as Billy began to feel himself let go, to drown in his anxiety, Max’s voice cut through the haze of pain.

 

            “We’re gone for three days, Billy, _three_ , and suddenly you’re dating Hawkins' prom king,” Max sniffed indignantly, and all eyes turned on her. Billy’s and Susan’s were wet, Steve’s wide. An emotion flickered through Susan’s, and she looked back at the boys in front of her.

 

            And then Billy was laughing. It was hitched with a harsh sob, his chest heaving as his knees gave out. Steve caught him and almost grunted as he eased himself down alongside him. Billy was still laughing, even as tears drenched his face. Steve shot Max a ‘what the _fuck_ ’ look as his entire face turned red and Max only grinned. Susan, on the other hand, leaned down and settled a hand on Billy’s shoulder.

 

            “He seems like a very nice boy, Billy,” Susan cooed and it only made Billy sob harder.

 

~ ~

 

            Somehow, Billy ended up on the couch. He wasn’t sure how, but when he finally came around (because he had somehow gotten lost in his mind), he was settled against Steve’s chest. Fear crashed through him because he was in Neil’s house, on his couch, on _Steve’s_ chest and suddenly he was trying to pull away. Steve’s arms tightened around him, though, keeping him still as his breathing became ragged.

 

            “Baby, calm down,” Steve sounded surprised that he had let the pet name slip, and Billy was trying to gather his bearings still (and still freaking the fuck out). He looked around the room, for any sign of Neil, and then realization dawned that he was in jail. He wasn’t anywhere near here and it was _okay_ that he was lying on Steve, right? He looked at Susan, who was in the lounge chair, and she smiled sympathetically at him.

 

            “It’s okay, Billy. I’m not him,” Susan smiled, and although it was hard for Billy to trust her, Max was grinning at him. The panic began to drift, settling into a deep, bone-settling exhaustion that made him want to sleep for days.

 

            Steve’s fingers were carding through his hair and Billy’s eyes were falling shut. He was riding the fence of sleep and awareness when he realized that he was… okay. He felt safe, and perhaps not everything was perfect, and maybe it never would be, but with Steve behind him and what looked like an actual family in front of him, Billy felt like he could rest.

 

            It was then that Billy heard Max’s voice, and although he was half asleep, he _swore_ he heard her correctly.

 

            “Alright, Sinclair, pay up. You’ve lost the bet. Hell yeah, my brother is dating Steve Harrington.”

 

            Warmth spread throughout Billy’s body.

 

            “Jesus Christ,” Steve grumbled, “At least we don’t have to hide it from them.”

 

            It was then that Billy decided that, maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t such a shit town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as Billy finding out about his mother--that will be addressed in the sequel (I am sure there will be one because I'm a sucker for these two).


End file.
